


Spin Me A Star

by inkypaws



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover Pairings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:32:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkypaws/pseuds/inkypaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Clara isn't quite sure how to handle the new Doctor or her newfound attraction to him, so when she meets Malcolm Tucker, a foul-mouther spin doctor that looks exactly like the man she's lusting after, Clara doesn't think things can get much more complicated. But when it starts to become obvious that maybe The Doctor wants her too, Clara organised life starts to fall apart around her. </p><p>(S3/S4 of The Thick Of It is happening at the same time as S8/XMas Special of Doctor Who)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1. Meeting Mr. Tucker

**Author's Note:**

> \- thanks for checking this out! It's my first ClaraxMalcolm fic, but I love the pairing so much I hope I do it justice. :)  
> In this chapter Clara and Malcolm meet for the first time.

Malcolm Tucker wanted to smack his head against the fucking wall. No, wait a minute; he wanted to smack _her_ head against the fucking wall. Being a media strategist for a party was hard work at the best of times - he should know, he’d been doing it for god knows how long – and it involved making a lot of decisions that people with more power than him _should_ be making, but were too chicken shit to do so. So when the cabinet re-shuffle came around and every one lost their heads over who’d replace Hugh, they turned to him to find a solution. And he’d made a lot of shitty choices in his time, really shitty choices – but NONE were as rushed or as ill thought out as his decision to make _Nicola-fucking-Murray_ the newest head of DoSAC.

He was scrolling through a recent article in which ‘The Guardian’ described her as ‘clueless’ and Malcolm had a hard time not chocking on his coffee. Clueless didn’t even _begin_ to describe the multi-fuckup that Nicola was proving to be. In fact, he was convinced that she’d never even been in an office, let alone run one. He felt like he had to constantly walk behind her with a broom and bucket just to make sure he could clean up the trail of shit she seemed to leave in her wake.

 _Ha,_ he thought, _Nicola Murray’s wake. Now there’s a party I wouldn’t miss._

“What’s wrong with you?”

Malcolm looked up from his phone and saw Oliver Reeder standing in the doorway of his office. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Your face twitched,” he continued, ignoring the question. “Could have been an attempt at a smile – looked more like you were having a stroke.” Malcolm didn’t say a word, didn’t need to, he just raised one eyebrow and the lanky streak of Reeder piss was already backtracking. “Not that I’m saying you look like a stroke victim or, you know, that you were smiling or-“

“Get to the point, some of us have work to do.”

“Right, yes, okay.” Oliver fiddled with his tie, “see the thing is, you know how you told Nicola Murray to enrol her daughter in a comprehensive school?”

The school he’d spent a whole day trying to arrange? The school he’d hounded until they agreed to take Murrays daughter? Yes, he’d say he remembered.

 “Well,” Ollie continued, “she hasn’t gone with that option and she’s currently at her preferred private school, booking her daughters tuition.” His words were coming out faster now, tripping over each other, “and some how it got out to the press so they’re on their way too and-“

Malcolm could feel his grip getting tighter around his blackberry. He leaves Nicola alone for five minutes and she already manages to fuck up the carefully formed plan he, _yes he,_ devised in an attempt to make her look semi competent in the eyes of the media. “Oh for _fuck_ sake! Sam!”

His assistant popped her head inside his office. “Yes?”

“Get me a car, fucking quickly, right?” Malcolm pointed a finger at Ollie, “you. You’re coming with me.”

“But-“

Malcolm wasn’t listening, his jacket was already on and his feet were already moving. He had to get to Nicola Murray before she ruined everything he’d set in motion – couldn’t she see he was trying to stop her from hanging herself with her own rope? _I’m too fucking old for this,_ he thought as he dragged Ollie into the car waiting outside.

~*~*~*~

 _I’m so not prepared for this,_ Clara Oswald thought as she watched The Doctor move around the TARDIS with all the elegance of Bambi on ice. He was excited about something, she didn’t know what because she hadn’t been listening since they left the ship in the asteroid belt. Aristotle it was called.

The thing was, The Doctor was… different now. Good different or bad different she wasn’t sure yet. The old face with bow tie was happy, smiley, predictable, and flirty. This new face was… well, for one she hadn’t seen him smile at _any_ appropriate moment. Two, he certainly wasn’t predictable and three _this_ face was far closer to something she’d want to flirt with.

She hadn’t actually _fancied_ the Doctor before now and she certainly hadn’t been unsure of his motives before now. It was unsettling and left her on edge. Before Trenzalore, before everything had gone wrong, she’d had control of her life and how The Doctor fitted into it – but now he was turning up three weeks late and unannounced in her school cupboard just so he could fly her off to a holiday _inside a Dalek._

And then he’d thrown _that_ question at her. “Am I a good man?” Well how was she supposed to answer that? She couldn’t say yes, because she’d seen him angry – she’d heard the stories of the populations he’d culled – and she couldn’t say no because she’d seen the lives he’d saved, watched him walk through hell and back to save her. “I don’t know,” she’d replied and he looked so disappointed that she nearly changed her answer.

Then they’d gone into the Dalek, people had died, and they had argued but ultimately the day was saved. And now he was babbling about a planet made of clouds like nothing had even happened.

Clara felt like she needed some air – today had been enough time travelling to last her for a few weekends, she was sure. “Doctor can you take me back to my school now?”

He stopped what he was doing and cocked his head. “Why? Didn’t you just hear what I said? Planet of the clouds, rain that tastes like bubblegum – and sometimes acid - but that’s not the point.”

“Yes, it sounds… wonderful, but I still have things to do at home, on Earth. In case you’ve forgotten I am a teacher.”

“A teacher?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

“Yes, a teacher. Do you really never pay attention to me when I’m talking?” Then, seeing the guilty look on his face Clara sighed; that was opening a whole conversation she really _didn’t_ have the energy for today. “Look, never mind. Can you just take me back?”

The Doctor pulled a lever; there was a slight thud and then silence. “Coal Hill School, Thursday, 3:45 in the afternoon. Close?”

Clara put her bag over her shoulder and headed toward the TARDIS doors. “Closer than Glasgow three weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry?”

She smiled; he heard everything. “Nothing.”

“Clara?” he asked and she turned to look at him. “Coal Hill School is it?” He raised an eyebrow. “I might pop in sometime.”

“Don’t you dare.” Her warning was playful, but as she stepped out the TARDIS doors and back into the storage cupboard she heard his response.

“I don’t take orders, Clara.”

And much to her horror, he sounded serious.

~*~*~*~

Malcolm had made it just in time to see Nicola Murray, followed by the oaf that was Glen Cullen, get swarmed by the press as she stepped out from the pearly private school gates. Ollie was laughing at how flustered she looked and Malcolm might have found it funny too if this didn’t reflect so badly on his party.

An overpaid MP, claiming to be ‘one of the people’, sending her daughter to an over priced private school? He could the see headlines now. And then, looming behind the headlines, he could see the mountain of fucking paperwork he’d be left with in order to try and clear things up. Thank Christ he got there in time and got her away from the cameras.

“I don’t know what makes you think you have the right to barge into my daughters new school.“ Nicola was talking _at_ him, running her mouth like a wind up toy that had been on full throttle since their car journey started twenty minutes ago. He’d stopped listening two weeks ago after she’d first introduced herself to him, but that didn’t make her noise any less irritating.

“ _Not_ your daughters new school,” he corrected, jabbing away at the buttons of his phone. “We’ve been through this a thousand fucking times. _That_ was just a routine visit, right? You’re weighing up your options and you’ve gone for the comprehensive school.”  Nicola went to say something, but he cut her off before she got the chance. “Is your daughter stupid?”

Her mouth had popped open like a fish. “Excuse me?”

“I said, is your daughter stupid? Thick? You know, a little bit slow? A little bit mental? I can phrase it fifty thousand fucking ways if you want me to.”

“No,” said Nicola, sounding outraged. “How dare you-“

“Right, it doesn’t matter what shitty classroom she sits in then, does it?“ And Malcolm nearly carried on, but he’d explained over and over again why he was right and she was wrong – and he wasn’t in the habit of repeating himself.

The car pulled to a stop outside the school, the correct comprehensive one, and Malcolm watched as Nicola eyed it through the window and then pulled a face. “Coal Hill School?”

“Well bend me over and fuck me sideways,” said Malcolm as he got out of the car, “Nicola Murray can read.”  She was quick to follow his lead and the two of them made their way to the entrance where two smiley teachers were waiting.

“I can small the teen pregnancy already,” Nicola mumbled, slogging ahead to do the greetings.

 _Bitch,_ Malcolm thought. He came from a public school and he still managed to come out the other end with more sense than all of the polo playing, money-shitting wankers that liked to call themselves his superiors. But that wasn’t the point; he wasn’t here to flaunt his old successes, he was here to add to them by making sure Nicola signed away her daughters teenage years to this school.

As Malcolm was saying his ‘hello’s’ to the teachers and trying not to think of the million other things he had to deal with when he got back to the office, he saw Glen and Ollie pull into the car park and then approach them. Malcolm had never been happier to see the pair of twats – at least with these two here, he could get back to work on his phone until the deal was done.

“Ah it’s Tweedle prick and Tweedle prat,” he said, looking the two men up and down.

“Why are we here, Malcolm?” asked Glen, looking every bit his sixty years.

“Because you two are going to go with Nicola and make sure she signs that paper, right? I don’t care how you do it, strap a fucking bomb to her if you have to, but get it done.”

“And while we’re in there doing the impossible?” Ollie asked, gesturing to the room Nicola had just followed the head teacher into.

“I’ll be out here,” Malcolm said, taking a stride toward the youngster, “stopping the rest of DoSAC falling apart while I’m not there to hold its hand.”

It seemed that was warning enough because the two men scurried off to attempt to do their jobs. Meanwhile Malcolm began to pace, but he was sure to keep within Nicolas line of sight, every so often passing by the door just to serve as a scary fucking reminder that if she fucked this up, he was coming for her and this time the bollocking wouldn’t be so lax.

It was about ten minutes later when the sound of heeled footsteps briefly drew his attention from the screen of his phone. He didn’t really pay much attention to the woman and after a quick assessment he decided she was just another teacher going about her business.

“Doctor?”

Malcolm looked behind him to see who the woman was speaking to, but saw no one else. _Must be off her rocker,_ he thought and went back to his phone.

“Uh, Doctor, don’t ignore me.” The woman came closer, so close in fact that this time Malcolm was forced to acknowledge her. 

He looked her up and down – short, large face, prying eyes. “Are you talking to me?”

She cocked her head. “Do you see anyone else in this hallway? I knew you wouldn’t stay away, even though I just told you to stay _out_ of my school. You really don’t listen to me when I talk do you?” This girl waited for a response, but when he was too dumbfounded to give one, she carried on. “What is this then, spy on the companion day? Secret alien living under the school?” Then she frowned, “please don’t tell me it’s an alien living under the school.”

Malcolm continued to stare and thought perhaps Nicolas concerns about this school had some grounds, after all if they were letting loons like this one near it’s students then no wonder they all failed. “Listen sweetheart, I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” he noticed how she flinched when he swore, but he carried on anyway. “So if you wouldn’t mind scampering back to your class of snot-nosed kids, I can get back to my work.”

Clara couldn’t believe her ears, or her eyes, or anything really. _What_ was going on? Since when did The Doctor think he could swear at her and get away with it? She could understand him acting differently if he was trying to stay anonymous, but subtle wasn’t exactly the Doctors style and not involving her in the adventure certainly wasn’t him. Plus, she’d just left the TARDIS and warned him not to encroach on her life on Earth; was he really so selfish that he ignored everything she said? Also, how _dare_ he talk to her like that – she didn’t care who he was pretending to be, no one called the kids in her class snot-nosed. It was safe to say Clara was _fuming._

She folded her arms across her chest. “ _You_ listen Doctor, I don’t know what’s gotten into you or how long as passed since our last detour, but it’s only been about ten minutes for me _and_ if you ever talk to me like that again, I’ll detach something from you.” Clara paused for effect, “and it won’t be an arm. Also, while we’re at it, don’t think that just because you’ve changed into some stupid…” she looked him up and down, finally settling on his eyes, “old man suit, that you get to parade around _my_ school like you don’t even know me.”

Malcolm was acutely aware that the conversation between Nicola Murray and the head teacher had stopped, he was acutely aware that everyone in that room was gawping at him through the glass and that his phone was beeping like crazy in his hand, but most of all he was aware of the young woman who had just spoken to him without the slightest hint of fear in her voice. He didn’t quite know how to react at first – she was clearly fucking insane, that much was obvious – but there was something in her eyes that made him stop.

Even Sam, who’d been his right arm for years, would never speak to him so candidly, so unafraid. Yet this teacher, English teacher judging by the bundle of Pride and Prejudice papers in her arms, had not only argued with him, but she’d put him in his place too. At the very least he was intrigued.

Malcolm grabbed her arm and pulled her a little way down the hall – he didn’t like to be stared at. “Look sweetheart, I don’t fucking know you, alright? And in case you haven’t noticed I’m as busy as a Victorian whore with no knickers on.”

Clara could feel her hands balling up into fists – how _dare_ he. How dare her friend, best friend, speak to her like that. “Where did you fly off to this time, Doctor?” she hissed, “did you get into trouble and regenerate again, only this time into an even bigger egomaniac? Just tell me what’s going on? Is this an undercover operation for UNIT? Are you-“

Malcolms ears pricked up then. UNIT? Now _that_ was interesting. He’d seen files on them, heard vague rumours about their work and occasionally he’d spun a story or two which would be passed to them – but he’d never been told _who_ they were or _what_ they did. Yet, here was this young thing talking about it like it was old news. Maybe she wasn’t so crazy – maybe, if he spun her up in a little bit of a web, she’d spill the beans and he could add more things to his pile of ‘information reserved for blackmail’. “UNIT, you said?”

For a moment, Clara didn’t quite process what he said. She was still so angry that anything than other a grovelling apology was sort of pushed to the side, but suddenly she began to notice. She looked at this man again - he was _exactly_ like The Doctor. Not sort of – _exactly,_ eerily so. He had lines in the same place; his fingers and hands were the same size and moved the same way when he spoke. The accent was the identical deep Scottish tone, his eyes the same steely ‘stay-away-from-me’ blue and even the way he held himself screamed ‘Doctor’!

Now she thought about it, it was all too strange. Too exact. And he really didn’t look like he had a clue about UNIT. Had she just fallen into an elaborate plan? An elaborate trap? Maybe this really wasn’t The Doctor, but instead some strange genetically engineered doppelganger. Suddenly Clara realised she’d made a huge mistake. “UNIT? Hahaha, no… no, I didn’t say that. What is that anyway?” she began to back up, “well sorry to bother you, but I really must be getting back to class. Goodbye Mr…?”

“Tucker,” he offered, trying not to laugh at her horrendous attempt to backtrack. _Too late now love,_ he thought, _you’ve already put your foot in your mouth._ He watched her scurry away down the hall; rounding the corner so quickly one of the papers fell from her hands. He waited until he could no longer hear her footsteps then went to pick it up.

“Social issues in Pride and Prejudice,” he read, “Class 3C essay for Miss Oswald.” This Miss Oswald had information about a part of the government he didn’t, and that didn’t sit comfortably with him. 

“Well Oswald,” he said, tucking the badly penned essay into this pocket, “I’ll be seeing you _very_ shortly.”


	2. 2. No Sherlock Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and The Doctor share a moment on the TARDIS. Meanwhile Malcolm decides to pay Miss. Oswald a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> \- I'd just like to make a note here and say that there is NO DANNY PINK in my AU. Malcolm will be filling in his role (i.e the dates, the meeting the Doctor).

It was another three weeks before The Doctor, the _real_ Doctor, turned up in her apartment and offered her the chance of an adventure. He was in high spirits again, and Clara began to wonder if all the time away from her was what made him so joyous. But she hadn’t said anything and instead jumped at the chance to be whisked off into space.

And she’d planned on telling him about the weird, foul mouthed look-a-like that crashed into her school moments after she saw him last, but for once _she_ had got to pick the adventure, and the possibilities of that were so vast it completely over took her thoughts. And then she’d meant to tell him at some point during the escapade – but Robin Hood, _the_ Robin Hood, had been her knight in shinning armour for one glorious day and thoughts of Mr. Tucker faded away again.

Now she and The Doctor were back in the TARDIS after leaving Sherwood Forest, and he wasn’t really saying much so Clara wondered if now would be a good time to mention the odd Scotsman in her school, but as she opened her mouth to do so The Doctor interrupted.

“Why Robin Hood?” he asked suddenly, peering around the console to look at her.

“I thought we already went through this,” she said. “Favourite childhood hero and all that.”

“No other reason?”

Clara went and sat on the steps leading up to the next floor and picked up the marking she was supposed to do last week. “What do you mean?”

The Doctor hesitated, fiddling with buttons on the console. “You didn’t… fancy him?”

Clara frowned down at the work she was running a red pen through. What an odd question. “Well... he was handsome enough I suppose,” now she had to recall his exact features, it was proving difficult, “but not really my type.”

“So what is your type, Clara?”

She looked up from her work and was surprised to find The Doctor staring at her so intently it made her skin itch. _You,_ she thought before she could help herself and then blushed a deep red at the implications of that thought. “I don’t know,” she lied, “just not Robin Hood.”

The Doctor took a few steps around the console toward her. “Come now Clara, you can tell me.”

 _Really_ not liking where this conversation was going, Clara sidestepped the question. “No Doctor, I really can’t,” and then before he could carry on, she switched it round on him. “But while we’re on the subject, what about you? Does the mighty Timelord have a ‘type’?”

“Well,” he said, returning to the safety of the other side of the console, “three regenerations ago blonde shop workers were quite a pull.” _Rose,_ Clara thought. She’d danced all over his timeline and seen the pretty blonde thing weave in and out of his lives as intimately as she did.  “And then of course the bow-tie me had a thing for red-heads… and their daughters, apparently.” The Doctor shook his head, as if disapproving of his previous fancies.

“But…” she hesitated, unsure if she should ask, “this you?”

“Oh Clara,” he clucked, and she noticed how he had a glint in his eye. “Isn’t it obvious? Even your human brain should be able to figure that one out.”

She could have sworn there was some hidden meaning behind his words, but surely that wasn’t the case. The Doctor had always remained impartial and restrained around women, especially it seemed with her. He didn’t even like hugs for Christ sakes.

There was a familiar whirring sound, a slight thud and then silence. They had landed. Clara picked her marking up with a heavy sigh. “Well, that was fun Doctor. Really, thank you.”

He waved a hand at her. “He’s still not real, you know. No one can laugh that much. It’s unhealthy. I might even pop back to make sure-“

“Doctor,” she warned, “just because a smile would crack your face in two doesn’t mean it works that way for everyone else.”

“I smile!” he protested, sounding very much like a teenage boy.

Clara laughed and walked over to the TARDIS doors, he was right behind her to hold it open as her hands were full of school books. She tried not to think about how little it would take for her to lean back into his body. She also tried not to think about how unnecessary this closeness was, after all a click of the fingers would open the doors just fine. Although, she liked this better.

“See you next Wednesday?” she asked him, stepping out of the TARDIS and into her home.

“I imagine so,” said The Doctor, “unless you let me whisk you away another day of the week.” 

Clara thought that was a very odd way to phrase things. ‘Whisking away’ sounded like they were more than friends and what did he mean by ‘letting him’? She’d run with him whatever day of the week he desired. “Wednesday is just a guideline,” she said, “if you need me another day or time, you know where I am.”

The Doctor raised a silver brow. “Is that so?”

“Of course.”

“You shouldn’t offer me all of your time, Clara,” he said, his blue eyes locking with hers.

 _Breathe Clara,_ she thought. “Why?”

“Because,” he leaned in closer, just a fraction closer, but it was enough for her to feel the heat of his body brushing her skin. “I might just take it – _all_ of it.”

Clara forgot how to think for a moment and wicked images of grabbing his lapels, pulling his face down to her level and kissing him until he went dizzy flooded her mind.  “I-“ she started to say, her voice sounding incredibly weak, “I…”

The Doctor stepped back, evidently more composed than she was. “Off you pop then,” he said, acting as though that – whatever that was – didn’t even happen.

Clara was snapped out of her illusions by the tone of his voice. “Are you ousting me?”

“If you like,” he said, “you have human… teachery… dull things to be getting on with, remember?”

“Well yeah but-“

“Very well then,” he started closing the TARDIS doors on her. “It’s best not to be late for all those meetings or rituals or whatever it is you do.”

Before she could protest, or even wrap her head around what had just happened, he shut the doors and the TARDIS vanished from her home with a gust of wind. Clara fell back into her sofa with a sigh; the marking would have to wait until tomorrow, there was no way she could do it now, not with her mind still racing at the brief – very brief – moment that The Doctor had sounded like he wanted her.

She looked around her empty flat and sighed again. That man was insufferable.

~*~*~*~*~

It had been three weeks, closer to four if you counted weekends, since Malcolm Tucker locked horns with the English teacher in the hallway of Coal Hill School; and ever since then the encounter had been in the back of his mind. It had been hellish knowing that information about UNIT was ripe for the taking – he just hadn’t found the time to do it yet.

But fuck it, stuff happened and life got in the way. Well, by life he meant Nicola Murray making yet another colossal fuck up, this time in the form of Immigration records.

‘How can you loose the records of one hundred and seventy thousand people!’ he’d roared and she’d just looked at him with her usual deer-in-headlights expression. ‘Well come on Nicola,’ he said, leaning back against the door, ‘give me something here. Did, did they grow little fucking legs and scamper off into the fucking sunset? Are they hiding under that massive frumpy skirt of yours?’

‘No-‘

‘Right,’ he began to walk toward her, ‘so that leaves one option. You and that entire team of weak-as-piss DoSAC employees have _lost_ all those records due to incompetence. Somewhere under the veil of Murray mishaps these records have been swallowed up and now, guess where they’ve landed?’ Malcolm didn’t give her chance to answer. ‘They’ve landed right on my, _mine not yours,_ my fucking desk that’s already got as much weight on it as Mr. Tickles wife when he wants a shag.’

And then he’d got fed up with screaming at her, because no matter what he said it wouldn’t make a difference. Nicola Murray was always going to be this useless and if firing her so soon didn’t look so bad on the PM or on him, he’d of written her a resignation letter a couple of hours after she got the job.

So he’d stormed out of her office and back to his, then a few days later when he finally started to sift through the pile upon pile of steaming horseshit the newspapers kept throwing his way, he hears that Nicola decided to run off to Eastbourne with Ollie-slimebag- Reeder and some poor woman with a dead husband.  It would only be a matter of time before he needed to drive down to the back end of nowhere and fix the cock-up that was inevitably happening.

Before all of that though, before another ton of pressure landed squarely on his shoulders, Malcolm had a visit to pay and he was going to take this opportunity to do it.

“Coal Hill School,” he barked at the Taxi driver. “And make it quick.”

Half an hour later when the cab pulled up outside the school, Malcolm paid the driver to wait around for his return; after all he wouldn’t be long. A quick bit of scare mongering and Oswald would be like terrified putty in his hands.

With a goal in mind Malcolm strolled into the steadily emptying school, explained to the secretary who he was here to see and then followed the directions to Miss Oswalds classroom. He found her with ease and was surprised to find her not sitting behind her desk like most normal teachers, but instead she was teetering on a chair, attempting to pull down some old work that students had pinned up.

 _She really is a short-arse,_ he found himself thinking as she rolled up onto her tiptoes. Then, despite himself he found his eyes wandering over her stretching figure and lingering on the way that action had hoisted her black and red plaid skirt up to her thighs and for a brief, crazy moment he wished he were twenty years younger. _Focus!_ He chastised, and then his head was back in the game so he cleared his throat.

Clara spun on the spot and nearly fell off the chair when who should be standing in her classroom doorway but the doppleganger she’d nearly forgotten about. It was bad timing, really bad timing for many reasons. One, she hadn’t even told the real Doctor about this man yet, so she still didn’t know if she could trust him or his intentions. Two, she _still_ had a ton of marking to do and – perhaps most embarrassingly – three, she hadn’t been able to get the thought of kissing The Doctor out of her head since the incident on the TARDIS so having his look-a-like around did nothing for her hormones.

“Mr. Tucker,” she said, getting off the chair and sliding it back under the table – she’d have to pull the old work down later – “how can I help you? I’m assuming this isn’t a social visit.”

Malcolm walked into the room and shut the door behind him. “I didn’t realise I was in the presence of Sherlock-fucking-Holmes.”

“Still as colourful as ever, I see.” Clara walked past him, being sure to keep her distance, and sat behind her desk. She knew, or at least she hoped she knew, that if this man really were a danger to her The Doctor would be around to help, and since he wasn’t Clara figured that maybe she should work out who or what Tucker was all by herself.

“Lets cut to the chase, sweetheart,” Malcolm strolled over to her desk and stood in front of it, doing his best to intimidate her with his height. “I am the fucking heart of the government, right? I’m at the centre of Westminster, I am the one that has every single limp-dick politician quaking in their boots. Nothing happens in London, in England even, without it going through me first. Are you following me?”

Oddly enough, and despite his quite obvious attempts, Clara didn’t feel the slightest bit afraid. She’d spent long enough with The Doctor to tell the difference between someone making threats and someone carrying them out. Clara relaxed into her chair. “I follow you,” she said, “you’ve got a God Complex and don’t quite know what to do with it.”

Malcolm tried not to let the look of shock creep into his face, but it was difficult – really fucking difficult. If he thought she was feisty before, she was out of her head now. He had to step up his game. “Very fucking funny,” he said, now leaning forward and placing both his hands on her desk, “but no. What I’m saying is I know everything about the country and who runs it. I know who they’ve shagged, when they’ve taken a piss, how many times they’ve wanked off in the storage cupboard. So when you, an _English teacher,”_ he tried to make it sound like he was mocking her, but Oswalds blasé expression didn’t change, “mention something as top secret as UNIT like its old fucking news and then try to hide it from me,” Malcolm pointed to himself, “me? The real leader of the British government? I’d say you better start spilling the beans before I rain down on you so hard you wont know up from down.”

Malcolm finished up his speech and couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug. That was a good one, even if he did say so himself. He watched as Clara sat up and rolled forward, folding her arms on the table.

“If you’d like to sit down, Mr. Tucker we can… discuss?”

He didn’t bother hiding his smug grin this time as he took the seat opposite her. He reached into his pocket and pulled his phone, ready to take down the information she provided.

“Now I need you to listen very carefully to these next set of numbers, Mr. Tucker,” Clara said, doing her best to keep a straight face. “One, Seven, Nine, Seven, triple three, five, double one.” She watched as he jabbed it down into his phone, then she watched as very slowly realisation began to dawn on his perpetually angry face.

“What the fuck is this?” he growled.

Clara smiled. “You’re no Sherlock Holmes either, are you?”

“Who’s number is this?”

“Mine,” she said simply, her smile remaining.

“Yours?” he was incredulous, “why the fuck-“

Clara cut him off. “Mr. Tucker,” she said, “I like you. You remind me a lot, scarily a lot actually, of someone who I like even more. But let me just set the record clear with you. I might be _just_ an English teacher,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “but I have information about UNIT. Information that you don’t,” she paused. “And for the record I would _never_ divulge that information to anyone, least of all a foul-mouthed politician that thinks swear words and ridiculous threats will be enough to make me betray my best friend.  So,” she shrugged, “you have my number now. If you want to get to know _me_ and not the secrets I have up in here,” she touched her head, “give me a call sometime. Otherwise it was nice to meet you, Tucker.”

Malcolm had to clench his jaw to stop it from popping open. For the first time in years he was actually gobsmacked through something other than the stupidity of his colleges. She’d done it again – been completely unaffected by his rants and then put him in his place without a single swear word. How the _fuck_ did she do that? He’d never admit it, but now he was a little more than intrigued by the innocent looking teacher.

“Um Tucker?” her voice interrupted his very shaky train of thought. “Your phone’s going off.”

He looked down and well he’d be damned, she was right again. It had been years since he’d been so out of it he hadn’t even heard his phone. He scowled at her out of habit and jabbed the answer button.

“What?!” Malcolm was more viscous than usual – he had to take his anger out on someone.

It was Ollie. “Uh Malcolm we’ve got a slight pro-“

“Let me fucking guess, you’ve got a slight, tiny, humungous, fuck off problem that I need to drive down and fix because the rest of you dickheads can’t rub two brain cells together to make a spark?” He turned and pulled the door open, nearly rocking it off its hinges. Really he was using this phone call as an excuse to not talk to Oswald again. He hadn’t quite thought of a comeback yet, and that was completely unlike him.

“Goodbye Tucker!” She called after him, her tone light hearted.

“Who was that?” Ollie asked.

Malcolm scowled at the phone. “Oh, fuck off Reeder.”

~*~*~*~*~

Clara was curled up on her sofa with a glass of red wine and a slice of raspberry cheesecake when she felt her phone buzz beside her. It was late, she didn’t have very many friends, and The Doctor certainly never called her so she really had no idea who it could have been.

Putting the plate of food down, she picked up her phone and switched the screen on. It was a number she didn’t recognise, but she clicked it anyway and when she saw what the message said, she couldn’t help but smile.

**_[received 23:34]_ **

**_[unknown]_ **

**_Can’t have you keep calling me Tucker. Try Malcolm instead._ **

Clara was quick to type a message back.

**_[sent 23:36]_ **

**_Only if you stop calling me Oswald and give Clara a try._ **

It was a small exchange that lasted no longer than a few minutes, but she felt immediately happier now that it had happened. Maybe Malcolm was a dangerous doppleganger of The Doctor, maybe she’d done the wrong thing by giving him her name and number… but a small part of her thought – hoped – that if there were a thousand versions of her stretched through time and space that maybe there were a thousand Doctors, all living different lives as different people from different places.

And Clara loved The Doctor, but knew it would never happen – couldn’t happen. He wasn’t that kind of man, he didn’t love freely. So she liked to think that maybe, just maybe, the universe had introduced her to Malcolm for a reason.


	3. 3. Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and Malcolm arrange a date - The Doctor isn't happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to make it clear that my Doctor is darker. He’s not sexless and he does have intimate, salacious thoughts about Clara. If you don’t want to think of 12 that way, then I suggest you turn back now. :)

Malcolm hadn’t meant to punch Glen… okay, that was a lie, he had meant to punch him, but not right on the nose. The chin would have done and it would have left a satisfying bruise. Basically he wanted to hurt him, but he hadn’t wanted to make the old fucker bleed.

It had just been a long drive down – his phone hadn’t stopped ringing since he left the school and people hadn’t stopped asking the same questions. ‘Where are you Tucker? Why aren’t you dealing with this, Tucker? Have you got this Nicola situation under control yet, Tucker?’ After about the fifth phone call he stopped explaining and just started throwing abuse down the line to whatever arsehole decided to call him.

And then Glen, techno-fucking-phobe Glen, misprinted Nicolas speech, managing to mess up the most menial of tasks, so Malcolm saw no choice but to steal away the widowed woman before they got their hands on her and made her look a sham in the newspapers too.

Nicola had been livid with him, and Ollie too apparently, but Malcolm couldn’t have cared less. He had a job to do, and he’d achieve it no matter what. There had been some shouting, some slamming doors, some pacing – well, attempted pacing. The toilets, Malcolm learned, were too small for efficient pacing – but Nicola had finally got to do the speech and he thought that for once things were under control, so as he slipped into the backseat of his ride home, Malcolm took a deep breath.

“Long day?” asked the driver, eyeing him through the mirror.

“Do I look like I’m in the mood for fucking small talk?”

The driver muttered something under his breath, but made no more attempts to engage in conversation. _Good,_ Malcolm thought as he loosened his tie. It would be a long journey back to London, a few hours at the least, right round until morning at the most, and Malcolm knew he hadn’t slept for longer than a few hours these entire past weeks so sleep would be a good idea, but as usual he couldn’t rest.

His thoughts turned to the teacher at Coal Hill. The feisty little thing was more, a whole lot more, than he bargained for. _How_ could she have that information? _How_ could she not even flinch when he shouted? And, most importantly, why the fuck would she give him her number? He was an old, tired man so far over the hill he was practically buried under it and she was a young, attractive, clearly independent woman – the two things just didn’t match up.

 _I bet it’s a fake,_ he thought, eyeing the number in his phone suspiciously, but there was only one way to find out and before he could talk himself out of it he’d sent her a text with his name in it – because if one more person called him ‘Tucker’ he might explode. 

When his phone buzzed only minutes later with a reply, he nearly fell of his chair. “Well, I’ll be fucked.”

When his phone went off again only a few seconds later, Malcolm thought for a crazy moment it might be Clara again, but he was incredibly disappointed to find it was a message from Ollie with a picture attached. He opened the attachment and nearly combusted from the amount of swear words that bubbled up and out of his mouth.

Nicola Murray was smiling at the camera with the words “I AM BENT” behind her – and tomorrow that picture was going to be on the front page of every newspaper in Britain.

Malcolm leaned toward the driver. “If you don’t get me back to London within the hour I’m going to drag you out of this car and shove the exhaust pipe so far up your arse you’ll be breathing smoke for the next eternity.” He sat back, re-tightened his tie and decided that sleep, once again, was off the menu.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Clara gave Courtney Woods a deadpan look. “I don’t have your essay Courtney. So unless it’s in your bag somewhere it means you haven’t done it.”

“I did it miss!” she protested, “I swear down I put it on the pile with everyone else.”

“Courtney,” Clara warned, “just admit you haven’t done it and we can move on.”

“But. I. Did. It!”

Clara sighed – talking to this girl often felt like an uphill battle. “Okay. One week from now I want your essay on the social issues of Pride and Prejudice handed in.” She opened her mouth to protest, but Clara wasn’t having any of it. “One week,” she reminded her, “or I’ll be calling your parents in – again.”

Courtney glared, then with a huff she got up and stormed out of the classroom making sure to slam the door shut behind her. Oddly enough it reminded her of Tucker storming out… Did she really have that effect on people? She thought she must do, because yesterday was Wednesday and The Doctor didn’t show up – she waited all day, even checked the storage cupboards every hour, but his bluebox was nowhere to be seen.

Clara tried not to make it obvious how much him not being there bothered her, but she wasn’t so sure she’d been successful. Before, when her floppy haired, bow-tie wearing best friend had been The Doctor, seeing him once a week was enough and sometimes she didn’t even need that, but this new smouldering, unpredictable Doctor dominated her thoughts all the time. Once a week was barely enough with him and it often seemed like he wasn’t even that bothered about travelling with her anymore.

It hurt because she’d given up so much of her life for him – she hadn’t had a boyfriend since she started travelling with The Doctor three, nearly four years ago, her friends got less and less by the day and yet he couldn’t even be trusted to turn up one day of the week to spend time with her. The whole ‘ I might take all of your time’ moment in the TARDIS was starting to feel like a cruel joke.

Maybe it was time she started to have a life outside of The Doctor, make some new friends, maybe go on a date – and just like that, her thoughts turned to Malcolm. He fascinated her, what with his sweary vocabulary and the same face as The Doctor… He wasn’t the Doctor, but maybe he could offer as a good distraction.

Clara checked the clock ticking at the back of her classroom. It was 4:30. Probably too early to call someone who claimed to be a politician, but what the hell, she needed to talk to someone who wasn’t a teenager. It rang twice before it was picked up.

“Speak,” a voice snapped down the line.

“That’s no way to speak to a lady, Malcolm.” Clara had the satisfaction of a few seconds of silence while he worked out who was on the phone and then came to terms with it.

“Clara,” he said.

 _Christ,_ she thought, _he really does sound like him._ “Bingo.”

“Why the fuck are you calling me?” he asked.

She thought about that for a moment. Because you’re the closest thing to The Doctor I have? Because you fascinate me? “I’m bored,” she said, a useless answer but far less dangerous than the other two.

“Bored?” he repeated, “you’re _bored?_ Well, sorry sweetheart but some of us don’t get time to be bored. Not all of us can sit around with our thumb up our arses once the school bell goes.”

Clara looked dubiously at the fresh pile of marking this weeks homework had left her with. “That’s true, not all of us _can_ sit around doing nothing.”

“Right, well after the _fascinating_ conversation I need to get back to work.”

“Wait,” she said, worried that the conversation would end so quickly. “I… I have a proposition for you.” The silence on his part told her he was listening. “You’re busy, I’m busy, but maybe we could… arrange a day when we’re not busy? Maybe insult each other face to face if that’s what you’re into.”

Malcolm nearly chocked on his own tongue. “Are you _asking me out?!”_

“Are you saying no?” Clara shot back.  

“No. Yes. I mean, no, I can’t-“

Clara’s smile was smug – she’d got him again. “Great. Friday at eight? I’ll text you the address of the restaurant.”

“Wait a fucking minute-“

“You’re the heart of the British Government,” she reminded him, “make time.” And then before he could argue anymore she hung up on him and tucked her phone safely in her pocket.

Taking control of her own life felt great, she thought, maybe she should do it more often.

~*~*~*~*~

The Doctor was irresolute.

In nearly every aspect of his many lives he was distant, controlled, clever. Saving the world was an every day occurrence, loosing people he cared about had become a pain that grew and changed as he did, and keeping a safe, unbiased view from the emotions of others had become his forte. It had taken twelve regenerations, but he finally felt like he was brave enough to travel alone, old enough to stop relying on kindness, guarded enough to keep the love and friendship he had with his companions at bay.

But then his face, this new face, saw Clara and his entire resolution vanished in a puff of smoke.

He’d loved her before as the old him, but this new him didn’t just love her – he desired her. It had hit him instantly after the regeneration finished; like it was the only thing that mattered. All he’d been able to think about was Clara. Where was she? Was she safe? What if she didn’t like the new him? What if she left him? And it had been fear at first – fear that she wouldn’t be able to adjust to his new, old face with grey hair and wrinkles.

But she’d stayed with him, and despite his best efforts to keep his thoughts at bay, the more he was with her the more he wanted her. He’d kissed the Victorian version of her, but he wanted to kiss this Clara – the real Clara – with his lips and see if it felt different. He didn’t though, he wouldn’t, at least not while she still looked at him with those eyes that seemed to say ‘change back!’

The Doctor kept his distance. He tried not to let her touch him, because when she did his resolve was at it’s weakest, but then she’d asked him to take her to meet Robin Hood and he’d watched her flirt with the long haired ninny, laugh with him, touch him… just the way she had done with bow-tie. He couldn’t help the jealousy that crept in and his control began to slip. He’d gotten too close opening the door behind her, leaning in just a fraction too near and then letting his truest, darkest intentions start to slip out of his mouth.

‘I might just take it – _all_ of it’ – the thing was, he wasn’t just talking about her time, he was talking about her too.

He’d dismissed her after that, needing her gone before he took it too far. Before he pulled her into his TARDIS and flew her away form Earth for good so he could have her all to himself.  Once she was gone he’d visited a few planets, read a few books, even made a quick visit to Vastra, Jenny and Strax, but before long he was pinning for Clara again and he soon found himself landing the TARDIS in her front room.

It was a day late, but she said he could call on her anytime and he intended to make good on her offer. “Clara!” He said, as he threw open the TARDIS doors. “I need you for a thing.” The Doctor had already taken a few steps back into his ship before he realised there was no answer and that Clara’s house was in darkness.  “Clara?” he called again, this time his voice was quieter – cautious.

This was odd. Clara was always around when he wanted her so why wasn’t she here now? Had something gone wrong? Maybe he was in the wrong universe – it’s not like that hasn’t happened before. The Doctor glanced back at the TARDIS screen and even from here he could see that according to that, he was in the right place. Immediately concerned for Clara’s safety, he stepped into her home, closing the door quietly behind him.

The living room was empty and showed no signs of being occupied within the last few hours. The television was cold, the sofa had no indentation and a mug was left on the side, half full of old coffee. From where he was stood he could see there was no movement in the kitchen either. The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver, the green light on the end serving as a torch as he scanned the rest of the area – still no sign of Clara.

He crept down to the hallway, on the verge of panicking, but then he heard it. The faintest hum was coming from further down the hall, and a small flickering light protruded from under the doorframe. Following the sound The Doctor quickly understood why the rest of the house was in darkness – the humming was Clara, and judging by the faint light and occasional splash of water, she was having a bath.

The Doctor froze as images of Clara writhing around in hot soapy water bombarded his thoughts. Maybe he’d be in the water with her, maybe she’d _want_ him in the water with her... And she was humming; gentle sounds to a song he didn’t know, but what if the humming turned into soft sighs, elicited by his hand, or his mouth or… It wouldn’t take much to push the door open, or sneak a look through the gap – just one quick look to satisfy him. One quick look just to see if the reality surpassed his fantasy…

His hand was barely an inch from the door when Clara spoke.

“Hello!” she said, sounding chipper, and The Doctor jumped back from the bathroom like he’d had an electric shock. Did she know he was there? For a moment he thought he’d have to admit it, just tell her what he was doing and deal with her reaction – but then he had the shock of his life. So faint it was practically unintelligible, another voice came from inside the bathroom and much to the Doctors horror – it was male.

“ _I’m_ not far away from the phone,” Clara said, “you’re on speaker.” The man spoke again and Clara laughed. “Does it matter why I can’t hold the phone? Don’t worry, no ones listening in.”

The Doctor was unable to stop his jealousy coming to the surface. Who was this man? Why hadn’t Clara mentioned him? More importantly, how come he could make her laugh but he couldn’t? Not since he changed, anyway. Without hesitation this time, The Doctor pressed an ear to the door, wanting to hear more if for no other reason than to size up his competition.

There was a lot of speaking coming from the man on the phone and at one point The Doctor wanted to run in, grab the mobile and stamp all over it.

“Can you say anything without swearing?” Clara asked.

That time The Doctor distinctly heard a ‘no I fucking can’t.’

Clara chuckled and he heard the swish of water. The Doctors fingers pressed harder against the door as the crystal clear image of droplets of water running over her chest, or down her thighs tormented him. He was convinced his eyes had gone green with envy because the man, even though he was on the phone, felt closer to Clara than he could ever be.

“Look,” Clara said, “you’re not getting out of it, so stop trying. I’ll see you Friday at eight.” Phone-guy muttered something else but Clara didn’t appear to react. “Friday at eight,” she repeated, “it’s a date.”

The Doctor slammed a hand over his mouth to stop Clara hearing the sound that came from it. A date? The words were like poison to him, burning deep, and he suddenly realised that if he didn’t do something soon then maybe Clara would stop travelling with him altogether. Maybe she would settle down with whoever this guy was, have his kids, be with someone appropriate and live a normal human life. He and his bluebox would fade from memory.

Really that would be the good thing to let happen. It would be kinder on her, on him, on every restriction he’d ever put in place; if he just let nature take it’s course and remained the ‘hobby’ as she once called him, but he couldn’t, he just… _couldn’t._

The Doctor needed her like he needed nothing else. He had to at least try to have her and he realised that he’d do nearly anything to achieve it. He couldn’t play fair, not now another man had already got a head start on him, and he couldn’t hesitate. If he wanted any chance with Clara, he’d have to make her see him _now_ before it was too late and he lost her forever.

The Doctor straightened himself up and organised his thoughts. Then, as silent as he arrived, The Doctor crept back down the hall and took a seat on Clara’s sofa, waiting for her to find him.

~*~*~*~

Clara pulled the cotton nightie over her head and flexed her toes. She felt infinitely better now that she’d had a good soak in some warm water – the days stresses had been washed down the drain and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact Malcolm had called her. All right, that was a lie; it had nearly everything to do with that. Even though they’d only spoken a few times over the phone, she already found their conversations the most exciting part of her day.  

With a new spring in her step, Clara left the bathroom and padded down the hallway; for once not caring about the wet footprints she left behind. Oblivious to the world around her she went into the kitchen and grabbed a handful of chocolate buttons. After shoving them in her mouth she made her way to the living room, intending to do some late night T.V shopping, but as she switched the light on and saw a silver-haired figure on her sofa, she nearly chocked.

“Doctor?” she coughed out, having swallowed the rest of the buttons in one go.

“Clearly,” he said, sitting forward on her sofa. “Who else would be in your home at this time of night?”

Clara was pleased to see him, of course she was, but this felt incredibly intimate. Her house was in darkness, she was barely dressed and here he was, the man who dominated her fantasies, relaxing on her sofa like it was the most normal thing in the world. “You miss more Wednesdays,” she asked, “and then you turn up in my home?”

 The Doctor’s eyes darkened. “Don’t you want me here?”

“No,” she said, “that’s not what I-“

“Would it help if I’d asked you on a date first?” His tone was mocking, “maybe Friday at eight?”

Clara froze, suddenly feeling the atmosphere in the room change into something she wasn’t so sure she liked. “How did you…” and then she took a moment to think about it and landed on the only conclusion she could. “Have you been _spying_ on me?”

The Doctors eyed her from head to toe and Clara resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself. His eyes felt like they were seeing beneath her night dress. “No,” he said, almost sounding disappointed, “but I arrived a few moments ago to whisk you away – as _you_ said I could – only to find that in my brief absence you’ve already moved onto dating a newer model.”

Honestly, she didn’t know what to say. Clara felt completely bombarded in her own home, one moment the Doctor was gone with no indication of when he’d come back and the next he was in her home demanding why she’d gone and found a life outside of him. It made her angry – why could he just waltz in and out of her life, why could he have a life with her and life without her when she was expected just to have him? And really ‘having him’ was an over estimation when most of the time he barely treated her like an acquaintance, let alone a friend.

“I am more than entitled to a life outside of you,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “I _do not_ appreciate being spied on and anyway why are you suddenly so interested in my life? You’re not my dad. _You’re not my boyfriend_.”

And as always he acted as though she wasn’t even angry. “You’re right,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’m not your boyfriend, am I?”

Clara couldn’t quite believe _that_ was all he got out of her irritated speech and she was ready to shout at him for it, but then The Doctor came toward her, his shadow swallowing up her tiny frame.

His voice dropped into a whisper, “shall we change that, Clara?”

“Wha-“

“You heard me,” he repeated, getting closer still, and despite herself Clara found herself leaning toward him. “You must know by now my type is you. _Only you._ I can’t have you running off with ‘date-guy’ until you’ve explored all your options.”

Clara felt light headed. This evening had taken turns in directions her wildest imagination couldn’t have dreamed up. Was she really hearing this? Maybe she was dreaming. “And you…” she spoke slowly, “want to be one of my options?”

The Doctor wanted to reach out and brush a strand of wet hair away from the side of her face, but he daren’t. He was struggling to keep his hands off her as it was. “I want to be your only option.”

Nearly, very nearly, she agreed. This was everything she wanted, wasn’t it? The man she’d dreamt about was finally taking notice… but somewhere in the back of her mind she was thinking of Malcolm. Why, she didn’t know, but he was too interesting of a man to just push aside because The Doctor had returned. And what had happened to her earlier promise to take charge of her own life? Why should that just go out of the window because The Doctor had made her an offer that may or may not be a serious one?

So, despite wanting to do the exact opposite, Clara stepped back. “Stay away from my date on Friday night,” she warned, and then seeing him practically flinch from the rejection her voice softened.

“Stay away from my date on Friday night… and I’ll keep him away from _our_ dates … whenever they, you know, happen.” The Doctor smiled and Clara’s heart did flips. “Now shoo,” she said, doing her best to act normally, “go save the world or something. I need to sleep.”

His eyes flashed. “I know a planet that has an atmosphere full of adrenaline. The people there never sleep. Want to see?”

“No,” Clara said, pushing him back toward the TARDIS, “sleep first, adventures later.”

“But-“

“ _Goodnight_ Doctor.” Clara made sure he was inside the TARDIS threshold before she turned around and walked back toward her bedroom. Once she was out of his view she took a deep breath – _that_ was intense. Suddenly she’d gone from having no dates to potentially having two… with two men that shared the same face and voice.

Clara crawled into bed. As long as she kept them apart everything would be _fine._


	4. 4. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Part 1. Listen) Malcolm and Clara try to have a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a slightly changed version of ‘Listen’, Because Danny Pink doesn’t exist in this AU, I’ve had to make adjustments. Also it will be in two parts.  
> Part one is very Clara x Malcolm  
> Part two is very Clara x Jealous!Twelve

Malcolm toyed with the glass of water on the tiny table in the shitty little Italian restaurant. Even though he’d made a hundred phone calls, pulled a thousand strings and terrified a dozen journalists, he was convinced that any moment now a camera crew was going to run in and accuse him of being a dirty old man for agreeing to see – because he’d be damned if he called this a date – such a young woman on a one to one basis. And the setting wouldn’t help his case. A candle in the middle of the table, some prick singing love songs in the background, a menu full of aphrodisiacs – he made a mental note to stay away from anything remotely stimulating.

Really, he should have deleted the teacher’s number the moment he got it and then told her to fuck off when she tried calling him – but he hadn’t and now he was waiting for her to arrive like a jittery teen. _What the fuck is wrong with you, Malcolm?_

He checked his watch and realised, with a surprising amount of mixed emotions, that it was ten past eight. She was late or far more likely she wasn’t even coming. He felt a fucking idiot for even thinking she’d arrive, after all what business did she have with him? No, the teacher had one-upped him again, except this time in the most humiliating fashion – if she’d done this to anyone else, he would have been proud of her ability to manipulate. Trying not to draw attention to himself Malcolm got to his feet and threw a note on the table.

“Leaving so soon?”

Malcolm spun around and laid eyes on none other than the teacher from Coal Hill School – Clara Oswald. Despite not letting his eyes linger anywhere on her for too long, he couldn’t help but notice how the fitted, navy blue dress hugged her figure in the right places, or how it stopped half way down her thighs. He wondered if she’d always been this appealing.

“Miss Oswald,” he said, extending his hand.

 “I already told you, my name is Clara,” she took his hand and then pulled him toward her so she could land a kiss on his cheek. “The formalities are for the school hallways, _Malcolm._ ”

He huffed and then sat down opposite her. “Yeah? Tell that to the teachers who screw each other on the desks.”

“So, “ Clara slipped off her jacket, ignoring his comment, and revealing how her outfit was cut away from the arms and neck leaving her skin exposed. “The famous drink at last.”

“You should feel honoured, sweetheart,” Malcolm said, signalling for the waiter to come over. He needed a drink stronger than water if he was going to get through this without having inappropriate thoughts. “I parted the red fucking sea to make time.”

“See?” she said, offering him a smile, “I was right. God complex.”

The waiter came and took their drink orders. He opted for whiskey on the rocks and she picked a large glass of red wine; he couldn’t help but wonder if that was a sign of her nerves. There was an awkward moment of silence between them as Malcolm tried to think of what to say next, he wasn’t usually this reserved and he didn’t like it. Taking a swig of his water, because the strong stuff hadn’t arrived yet, Malcolm attempted conversation.

“Is this what you usually do for kicks then?” he asked, “give unsuspecting men your number, then pressgang them into agreeing to have a drink with you?”

Clara shrugged. “You didn’t have to turn up.”

He couldn’t argue _that_ point. He didn’t have to turn up; he shouldn’t have turned up. The drinks arrived along with a complimentary selection of nibbles. Clara grabbed an olive and popped the whole thing in her mouth; she swallowed it down and then licked the tips of her fingers clean. Malcolm tore his eyes away and pounced on his drink before it even touched the table – just looking at her made his throat go dry. _This is so fucking wrong,_ he thought, _I’m old enough to be her father. Get your head out of the gutter._

“What do you do for a living?” she asked, clearly fishing for more conversation. “I mean, apart from swearing and insulting people.” He opened his mouth to reply, but she reached into her bag for her phone and turned it on, “and before you try to exaggerate I have some of your latest work right here in my hands.”

“I told them not to make my porno’s public.”

Clara handed him her phone. He looked down and groaned when the words ‘I AM BENT’ and Nicola Murrays stupid face came back to haunt him. “Your fan club was very forthcoming with that,” she said with a smile.

He frowned. “Fan club?”

“Okay,” she reached out and took her phone back – he tried not to think about the way her hand brushed over his – “not fan club. More like a… ‘we-want-Malcolm-to-die’ club.”

“Ah,” Malcolm swilled his drink around the glass, “the ‘Kill that Fucker Tucker’ group? You should have said, the bastards I work with run it. They think I don’t know about it – you should see their faces when I quote something they’ve put on there. Fucking priceless.”

Clara chuckled. “That’d make an interesting headline, I wonder how much I could sell it for.”

Immediately Malcolm felt his back go up and pieces of the puzzle, like how she knew about UNIT and why she’d even invite him out in the first place, started to fall into place. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it sooner. “You’re a fucking journalist,” he spat, “aren’t you? “

Clara shook her head, the smile quickly fading. “No-“

Malcolm felt like an idiot. He dared think that someone, a young someone, might be interested in him. Ha, had he really gone as soft as an old man dick? “You’re one of those slimy, scum-bag undercover journalists with about as much backbone as a splattered fucking worm, aren’t you?”

Clara stared at him, open-mouthed, shocked he could change so quickly. “I made a _joke,”_ she said.

“Oh yes. Very fucking funny.”

“You know what,” Clara got up, suddenly regretting even asking him out, “do you know what I’m making now?”

Malcolm scoffed. “A scene? Something else you can sell to the papers?”

 _“No,”_ she seethed, “an exit!”

Malcolm watched her leave, watched her stuff her arms into her jacket and storm out in the cold night and tried to ignore the guilt that was nipping at his heels. It was _her_ fault for being a journalist – not his, and as soon as he’d finished his drink, he was going to go home and bury his head in the pile of paperwork he’d been neglecting and forget about this whole debacle.

~*~*~*~

Clara was fuming by the time he reached the end of the restaurants road, she was angry by the time she reached _her_ road, she was regretful by the time she turned the key in her lock and she was guilty by the time she kicked her shoes off.

It was a poorly made joke, she knew that now, but she hadn’t expected him to fly off the handle. Maybe she should have just apologised, explained herself better… she sighed. It was too late now, he was probably already on his way home, cursing the day he ever met her.

Clara stormed toward her bedroom, deciding that sleep would be the only cure, but as she pushed her door open she was surprised to find resistance. She poked her head inside and found none other than The Doctor and his TARDIS packed into her tiny bedroom.

“You’ll just have to squeeze through,” he said.

“Doctor?” She really couldn’t be doing with this today.

“Why do you have three mirrors?” He said, turning his head side to side. “Why don’t you just turn your head?”

Clara ignored him and instead threw herself down on the bed, grabbing a pillow to bury her face into. “What are you doing here?”

“You said you had a date. I thought I better hide in the bedroom in case you brought him home.”

“I told you to stay away from my date.”

“Bit early aren’t you?” The Doctor looked at her through the mirror, his tone was teasing; clearly he was pleased she’d come home alone. “Did it all go wrong? Or is this good by your standards?”

Clara grabbed the spare pillow and aimed it at his head. “Shut up.”

The Doctor got up. “Come on. I need you for a thing.”

“No, in case you haven’t noticed I’m not in the mood.”

He lingered for a moment then moved round to free side of the bed. “Fine. If you don’t want to come with me, I’ll just stay with you.”

“Do _not_ get on this bed,” she warned. Mainly because she wouldn’t be responsible for what she did to him if he dared.

“Why?” he countered, getting dangerously close to climbing onto it with her. “Afraid of what might happen?”

 _Yes._ “No!” she snapped, but got up anyway. “Now come on, what is it that you want?”

 “You know sometimes when you talk to yourself? What if you’re not?”

“Not what?” She was exasperated.

The Doctor pushed open the TARDIS door for her, his grin triumphant. “Alone.”

~*~*~*~

They visited a children’s home. The Doctor was convinced that a house full of youngsters afraid of the dark would be the perfect place for this ‘hiding’ creature to reside. He was right, of course, and before long they stumbled into a room belonging to a ‘Rupert Pink’ which had a monster sitting on his bed.

They saved him – well, kind of, The Doctor wasn’t satisfied because in order to save the boy, he had to not look as the creature revealed itself and made its exit. He was sulking, but Clara had softened. Honestly she would have never of thought that _this_ version of her Doctor would put saving a child above discovering something that no one else had ever seen before.

The Doctors speech about fear had made her think of Malcolm – and The Doctor of course – but mainly of the foul-mouthed Scot. It wasn’t that she felt _scared_ around Malcolm, but he made her heart beat faster; he made her angrier and more passionate. Fear is a super power, The Doctor had said, so maybe she should embrace it.

“Are you okay?”

Clara came out of her thoughts to find the Doctor looking concerned. He was fiddling with a gadget. “Doctor, I am sorry to ask, and, you know, I realise this is probably against the laws of time, or something. Er, could you do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

She twiddled her thumbs. “My date tonight… it went wrong and it was my fault. I want to go back and try to fix it before it’s too late.”

The Doctor put the gadget down. “You want me to return you to another man?”

“Don’t make it sound like that,” she said, trying to get some understanding from him. “Imagine if every time _we_ argued I stormed off and didn’t come back. You wouldn’t want it to end like that, would you?”

“We don’t argue,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, “so I wouldn’t know.”

Clara gave him a deadpan look. _“Please?”_

After a moment the Doctor huffed and yanked the lever. They landed and he stormed toward the TARDIS doors, pushing them open. “Go on, before I change my mind and take you as far away from this date as possible.”

Clara squeezed his arm gently as she passed by. “Thank you.”

~*~*~*~*~

Malcolm opened his eyes when he heard someone take the seat opposite him and he nearly fell of his chair when he realised Clara had returned. “Well, fuck me,” he said.

She stuck her hand toward him for it to be shaken. “Hello,” she said, “I’m Clara Oswald. I’m a bit tricky, sometimes a bit up myself, I do not like my surname and I’m _definitely_ not a journalist, but I think that’s everything you need to worry about.”

Malcolm took her hand cautiously. “Are we really going to do this?”

“Also I mouth off when I’m nervous,” they let go of each other’s hand, but they were still closer on the table than they had been earlier. “And I’ve got a mouth on me. Seriously, it’s got a mind of it’s own. I’m worried it wants to go solo.”

He had to hand it to her; she had balls for coming back. He’d laid into her, given her a taste of how angry he felt, and in all honesty he’d expected her to be at home crying – not here, trying to make things better. “Do you know,” he said eventually, “if half the cunts at work had balls half the size of yours this country might actually be able to drag itself out of the shit-filled gutted we’ve rolled into.”

Clara smiled. “Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself,” he said, but his tone was light.

Clara grabbed her glass of wine and took a huge mouth full. It stained her lips a darker red and, much to his annoyance, Malcolm found himself wondering if he kissed her right now would she taste of red wine.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted.

 _Come on Tucker,_ he thought, _stop being a pussy. If she can come back, you can fucking open that mouth of yours and speak to her._ “I have something of yours,” he said, reaching into his blazer pocket and pulling out a crumpled up piece of paper.

Clara took it and was surprised to find Courtney Woods essay on Pride and Prejudice, but she was even more surprised to find that Malcolm had already gone through it with a red pen and left word perfect corrections on the side. “I didn’t know English was a talent of yours. I assumed if you read, heard, or even thought a sentence without the obligatory ‘f’ word in it, you’d combust.”

“A fuck is good every once in a while.”

Clara began to chuckle and a few seconds later he realised what he said. Malcolm hadn’t meant it _that_ way, had he? But come to think of it, how long had it been since he’d… No. Now was _not_ the time, especially not when Clara was sitting opposite him.

“Ooo, bold offer Mr. Tucker,” she said, running her finger along the rim of the wine glass. And he nearly told her that he didn’t mean it that way, but before he could she spoke again. “I can’t help but agree though, it _is_ good every once in a while.”

The temperature between them shot up about fifty degrees and Malcolm had to fight really hard to maintain his composure. So much for staying away from stimulants.

“Has that cat got your tongue again?” she teased.

“No,” he barked, defensive because once again she had him on the ropes. “But earlier when I joked about teachers fucking on the desk, I didn’t think you’d be one of them.”

She shrugged, un-phased by his words. “The more you know.”

Malcolm’s mind went to wild places as he imagined storming into her classroom, or her storming into his office, and the two of them going at it until they couldn’t stand. _She’s too fucking young for you!_ He reminded himself, but the more he said it, the less he seemed to care.

Without warning Malcolm’s phone began to ring. “Excuse me,” he said picking it up and hitting the answer button. “Unless the next words out of your mouth are ‘Nicola Murray, Peter Mannion and Fatty have been run over, multiple times, by an eighteen wheeler adorned with fucking spikes and now they’re all being scrapped from the fucking roadside,’ I _am not_ interested.”

Clara listened as the poor guy on the other end of the phone tried to explain his reasons for calling. She felt bad for whoever was on the line, but she had to admit, angry Malcolm – when it was directed at someone else – was really, really attractive.

“Stewart?!” He shouted, “you let Stewart fucking-I’m-off-my-tits-Pearson into _my_ office! You listen here right, I will be there any fucking minute now and if that bald headed, four-eyed nonse is still there when I am, I will come for you. Do you hear me? I will fucking hunt you down, chop off your arms and legs then roll you down a hill like one of those mouldy balls of cheese the yokels chase.”

Malcolm hung up and then got to his feet. “I have to go,” he said, not really wanting to but knowing he should.

“I guessed,” she said.

They both put some money on the table – because he’d be damned if he let a lady pay, and she’d be damned if she let him pay – and then made their way outside. Clara automatically wrapped her arms around herself – she was freezing. Malcolm frowned; didn’t she have a jacket earlier? He lingered. Part of him felt like he should walk her home, give her his jacket, and make sure she was safe but that had more implications than acquaintances, didn’t it? And he couldn’t guarantee that the press wouldn’t be lurking, the last thing he needed was his face splashed all over the newspaper with a pretty young teacher from his bosses school on his arm.

But then Clara started visibly shaking and Malcolm was fucking done for. “Fuck it,” he said, shrugging out of his blazer. “Put this on.”

“It’s fine, honestly.”

“She says as she trembles like a fucking virgin,” he stepped toward her and placed the coat over her shoulders. _Christ,_ she looked good in his jacket. It was too big for her and fell all about her knees, and it brought about images of her not in his jacket, but in his shirt and nothing much else.

“Thank you, Malcolm,” she said, looking up at him with those big brown eyes of hers. And then she reached up on her tiptoes and planted another kiss on his cheek, except this time he was _very_ aware of how close it was to the corner of his mouth. “I had fun,” she said, stepping back, “call me, alright?”

He watched her go, unable to form a coherent sentence and still feeling the heat of her lips against his skin. 


	5. 5: And It Feels Like Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Part 2 of (AU) Listen) Jealous!Possessive!Twelve doesn't like the fact Clara is wearing another mans jacket, so he takes her to the end of the universe to remove it from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't like possessive!twelve then look away now. He's a darker version of The Doctor.   
> The next chapters will have more Malcolm :)

Clara decided pretty much three or four seconds after it was wrapped around her that Malcolm was never getting this blazer back. It was big enough to drape over her shoulders like a blanket, it was nice and warm from his body heat and it smelt of… she brought the sleeve to her nose and smiled. It smelt of coffee, ginger and, surprisingly, oranges. An odd combination but comforting and warm when mixed together. Yes; this was going to be hers from here on out.

She rounded the corner and-

_Smack!_

Clara stumbled back, holding her hands out by means of apology. “Sorry, sorry,” she was saying, unsure of who she’d walked into. “I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s not safe to walk around so late, alone and unaware.”

Clara looked up and there, under the street lamp was The Doctor leaning against his TARDIS with a face like thunder.  “Doctor,” she said, relieved, but unsure why he was looking at her that way. “I thought our adventures were done for today?”

“You’re limiting the amount of times I can see you in one day now too?” he said, the glare not leaving his face.

“No-“

“Good,” he said, his voice harsh. Then he turned and walked into the TARDIS, leaving the door open for her to follow. She wanted to refuse and demand he explain what was wrong, why he’d been so hot and cold recently, but she daren’t, not when he was in such a childish mood. So she pulled Malcolm’s jacket tighter around her shoulders and stalked after him.

Actually, she hadn’t even made it very far into the TARDIS when he pulled the lever and they took off – she had to grab the railing for support. “Okay,” she said, having had just about enough, “what is the matter with you?” He didn’t answer and just continued pressing buttons.

Clara folded her arms across her chest. “Doctor?”

The Doctor, still not answering, brought the TARDIS to a shuddering halt. He walked past her and back out through the TARDIS doors. “We’re here,” he said, not bothering to explain where ‘here’ was.

Clara called after him, really not sure if she should follow. He was acting strange and she didn’t like it. For a few minutes she hesitated, expecting him to come back and look for her, or at the very least call after her. He did neither and she began to worry.

With caution she left the TARDIS, finding herself standing in what appeared to be another space ship. It was smaller than the TARDIS, as was nearly everything they encountered, and for the most part it seemed unoccupied. There was a desk with lost of blinking buttons on it, a corridor branching off to somewhere else, a circular door with the words ‘LOCKED’ branded across it in light up letters and a window looking out to what appeared to be a desert planet. It would have all seemed harmless enough, except The Doctor had taken the only seat – a computer chair on wheels – and was _still_ glaring at her in the most hungry fashion.

Clara cleared her throat. “Where are we?”

The Doctor clicked his fingers and the TARDIS doors slammed shut behind her. “The end of the road. This is it, the end of everything. The last planet.”

“The end of the universe?”

“Precisely.”

“Oh,” she said, toying with the sleeve of Malcolm’s blazer. “Why, um, why are we here?”

“Is everything okay, Clara?” His tone was prying and anything but genuine. “You look… worried. Or perhaps-“ The Doctor looked her from head to toe, “you’re cold?”

Clara fidgeted on the spot. The temperature inside Malcolm’s blazer began to drop as she got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“I found your jacket,” The Doctor continued,” and I thought I would be a gentleman and return it. After all, I know how bad humans are at retaining body heat. I didn’t want _my_ companion to freeze. But much to my surprise, as you round the corner I see you have a _new_ jacket!” He wrinkled his nose, “an ugly one, but a jacket nonetheless. So Clara, where did you get it from?”

Malcolm’s blazer didn’t feel so comfortable anymore. “I-“

“Because it looks distinctly male,” interrupted The Doctor. “When I returned you to your date I thought you would be finishing drinks, eating a meal at most. _Not,”_ his voice was venomous, “playing dress up in each others clothes.”

“I was cold!” she protested, “and he offered me his jacket. That’s all, there was nothing else-“

“If you were cold, Clara,” The Doctor got to his feet and took a step toward her, “you should have called me. I know a thousand different ways to make body temperature soar and not one of them involve _wearing_ a jacket.”

Clara resisted the urge to ask him what kind of ways he was talking about. Just thinking about what he might of meant made her flush, hearing him say it - because the look in his eyes told her he would - would certainly be too much for her to handle. She needed to cool this situation down, and fast.

“Well, the dates over now,” she said, turning from him desperate to find a distraction. “It doesn’t matter. So come on, why are we here? What could possibly be here, at the end of the universe?”

“But is it over?”

Clara heard the Doctor come toward her and when she turned he’d gained a few feet on her. He had one hand leaning on the board of flashing buttons, the other on his hip, pushing his blazer back and revealing a flash of red lining. Clara briefly wondered if it was silk or velvet and wanted to run her fingers over it to check – but she didn’t. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re still wearing it,” he accused, “even though I’ve made my disdain quite clear, you’re still clinging to that hideous beige thing.” The Doctor took another step toward her and she noticed how his eyes had gone a shade darker. “Take it off.”

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t a question. It was an _order._

“Or of course,” he said, and she noticed his his hands twitched as he spoke, “I could remove it for you.”

Her throat had gone dry. “No.”

“Oh Clara,” he cooed, again coming toward her. She stepped back, but was very aware of how little space she had left. Any moment now and she’d be backed against the door. “Don’t make me ask again, don’t make me beg.”

“Or?” she squeaked.

Once again his eyes were devouring her, she could feel them burning holes through her dress. “Take it off, Clara. _Please.”_

How could she argue with that? How could any woman argue with that? Slipping Malcolm’s blazer off her shoulders felt like letting go of a safety cord – it had served as the very real, very human reminder that she was trying to have a life without The Doctor, that back on Earth a man who looked just like her Doctor was hopefully thinking about their next date. It had reminded her why she _couldn’t_ jump into the Doctors arms, why she couldn’t kiss him, why she couldn’t drag him into bed – because doing those things would only end in tears, because The Doctor couldn’t love her like she loved him.

But now Malcolm’s jacket was on the floor. The Doctor had said please and Clara, despite herself, had felt powerless to do little else than obey.

“Thank you,” he said, coming forward and picking up the blazer – then tossing it over his shoulder with a flick of his wrist. “Now to answer your earlier question.”

Clara had thought that perhaps now she’d done as asked, albeit with some resistance, that he would stop grilling her. She hoped he would leave her time with Malcolm alone and get on with saving the day, or solving a puzzle... or something, but she was wrong and instead he made the space between them even smaller. Clara retreated and felt the cold metal of the door against her back.

“There is nothing here at the end of the universe, Clara. Not a breath, not a whisper, not a pulse… except, of course, ours. No distractions, nothing to disturb...” He swallowed thickly, “are you warming up yet?”

Warming up? She was _burning._ The Doctor hadn’t actually laid a finger on her, but wave after wave of heated desire was pouring from him and crashing against her exposed skin. It felt as intimate as any touch and left the very small space between them so hot Clara began to feel beads of perspiration form at her temples.

“Doctor I-“

_Bang!Bang!Bang!_

With a yelp, Clara leapt forward and threw her arms around the Doctor. There had been a knock on the door, a knock on the door at the end of the universe with no one else in it - and it had been right behind her. “What was that?”

She felt him stiffen and at first she didn’t know why, but then she realised what she’d done. Her hands were on him – around him – and she was clinging to him as tightly as she could. Clara also realised that the jumper he was wearing wasn’t woven with silver bits running through it – the jumper had holes in it and the tips of her fingers were resting across them.

“I’m sorry,” Clara could feel her cheeks turning red as she let him go. “Sorry I uh, I just wasn’t expecting…”

The Doctor regained his composure so quickly Clara was nearly convinced she’d imagined his reaction to her touch. “Come away from the door.”

“What _was_ that?”

“What kind of explanation would you like?”

Clara was standing behind him now. “A reassuring one?”

“Well the systems are switching to low power,” The Doctor moved away from the door too. “There are temperature differentials all over this ship.”

“I’ll say,” Clara muttered, still struggling to shake the heat of The Doctors earlier gaze from her skin.

He shot her a look, but didn’t comment. “It’s like pipes banging when the heating goes off.”

Clara leaned back against the button board and The Doctor returned to his seat opposite her. “I always thought there was something in the pipes.” 

“Me too.” He put his feet up on the button board, hands folded in his lap. “Who were you having dinner with?”

“Really?” Her tone was quizzical; “you want to do this _now?”_

“Why not?” He shrugged. “We were so rudely interrupted earlier. Although…” he locked eyes with her, “if wrapping yourself around me is how you react to interruptions, perhaps a planet with none was a bad choice on my part.”

Clara folded her arms across her chest. “I did _not_ wrap myself around you.”

He held his arms out to her. “Shall we re-enact it? Just to be sure.”

She ignored his proposition. “I told you. It was just a date. Earlier I mean, just a date.”

“Serious?”

Clara found her gaze wandering to Malcolm’s jacket that had landed a few feet away from the TARDIS. She didn’t know if it could ever be serious, she didn’t know if she wanted it to be… or hell, if he even wanted it to be. It was early days – she and Malcolm had a lot to go through before it was even close to serious. “It was a date,” she repeated.

“A _serious_ date?”

She frowned. One moment he couldn’t care less about her life, the next he wants to know the ins and outs of it. “Do I have to bring him to you for approval?”

“Well,” he twiddled his thumbs, “I would like to know his prospects. If you like, I can pop ahead and check them out.”

Clara actually recoiled from the thought of Malcolm and The Doctor meeting, she wasn’t even sure if both of their egos would fit in the same room. Suddenly there was a scream from outside the locked door and more, louder, banging coming from outside. The two of them shared a look and then The Doctor stood up and clicked his fingers.

The TARDIS doors opened. “Clara,” he said, watching the locked door as it began to turn. “In the TARDIS, now.”

Her response was instantaneous. “After you.”

“No, get in the TARDIS. _I_ have to know.”

She wanted to smack him. “We _do_ know. There is something out there, see? We can go now.”

The Doctor looked over his shoulder at her. “Why are you still here?”

“Because I am _not_ going to leave you in danger!”

He rounded on her. “Then you will never travel with me again, because that is the deal! TARDIS, now! Do as you’re told!”

“No!”

“Then when this is through I shall kick you out of my home and wipe date-guys memory for good measure.”

Clara glared at him and he glared back. He was serious. Oh, so serious, and she hated him for it. How _dare_ he throw that at her, how dare he leave her between a rock and a hard place. “You’re an idiot!” she spat, turning on her heel and leaving him to his fate.

~*~*~*~*~

Clara wasn’t around when The Doctor stirred many, many hours later. At any other time she would have revelled in these hours; taken the time to learn his face while he slept, savoured the very rare moment of a Timelord relaxed and motionless – but this was no normal circumstance.

She had saved him. Well, pulled him to safety. When the airlock broke in the capsule outside the TARDIS, everything was being pulled out – The Doctor included. Clara had sprung into action. She told herself it was because if she didn’t save his stupid self, she’d never get home… but really it was because she realised that if he was going to go, she was going to go with him.

Clara managed to drag him in at the very last second, but a stray chunk of debris clunked him on the head and he’d been worryingly still ever since. If it wasn’t for the faint breaths and occasional flicker under the eyelid, she would have thought he was dead. It didn’t stop her from worrying though, and as soon as she’d realised the TARDIS had moved them to safety, she hurried out looking for help. It turned out they were in a barn, in The Doctors childhood and that Clara was the monster under the bed.

If The Doctor woke up now and met his very, very young self, Clara was sure the consequences would be colossal. It was lucky then that The Doctor was coming to just as she returned to the TARDIS.

“Clara?” The Doctor sat up and looked around, obviously not seeing her. “Clara!”

“I’m here,” she said, closing the TARDIS doors behind her and walking up the steps. She almost thought the slightly dazed look on him was adorable, but then she saw the bloodied, swollen bump on the side of his head and decided it was probably concussion making him look so out of it.

“What happened?” he asked, “what did you see? What’s out there?”

Clara took a step toward him. “What if there was nothing? What if there was never anything?”

The Doctor frowned – well, he tried, but winced due to his injury. “Clara where are we? How did we get here? Have we landed? Have we moved?”

“Don’t look where we are,” Clara came closer, “take off, and promise me you will never look at where we’ve been.”

“Why?” He tried to sidestep her to get toward the doors, but she stopped him by placing a hand on his chest.

“Just take off, don’t ask questions.” She felt him relax into her touch, just a little bit, but enough to tell her she might have won him round.

“I don’t take orders, Clara.”

Clara could feel his hearts pummelling against his chest and she gently rubbed her thumb over the material of his jumper. “Do as you’re told.”

The Doctors eyes flicked between her hand and the space behind her. “Clara…” he complained and she’d got round him, but then as if annoyed that he’d let his guard down, his face hardened. “I _don’t_ take orders.”

The Doctor sidestepped her, but Clara was quick and grabbed his arm. She had to think fast and seeing this as an opportunity to get him back for how he spoke to her earlier, Clara leaned in. “If you take one more step the jacket will be the least of your worries.”

His eyes were glued to her fingers wrapped around his arm. “What do you mean?”

It was unfair and she knew it, but he’d been unfair earlier and payback only seemed reasonable. Clara dropped her tone slightly.  “Just think about it, Doctor. After one date I'm in his jacket, maybe after three I’m in his shirt…” and despite herself she could see the scenes playing out in her head.  Malcolm’s shirt hanging from her while she made morning coffee for them both. “Four dates… and perhaps I’m modelling his underwear.” _Boxers or briefs?_ She wondered, seeing Malcolm as a boxer man.

“Stop it,” he warned.

“Then take off. Leave, and I’ll stop.” When he didn’t immediately react, Clara carried on. “Imagine it, Doctor, you turn up at my home one day only to find me in the arms of another man.”

“Clara!”

“Kissing,” she let her voice get breathy, “touching,” her eyes began to flutter shut, “sighing… over and over…”

The Doctor tore his arm away from her.  “Enough!”

Clara watched him practically run back over to the console and throw the lever down with so much force it nearly bounced back. She felt smug – but it didn’t last long.

Once they were in orbit, The Doctor spoke through gritted teeth. “ _Never,_ do that again.”

“Why not?” she challenged, just about having enough of his ‘do this, do that’ attitude. Clara pointed a finger at him. “If the next words out of your mouth are ‘because I’m in charge’ or ‘because I said so,’ I swear I’ll go back and throw you out of that airlock myself.”

“No,” he growled, “because it was manipulative.”

She scoffed; he wanted to play _that_ game did he? “Manipulative? _Manipulative?_ Do you mean like how you interrupted my date tonight, twice. The first time to gloat that it went badly and the second time to take me to the _end of the bloody universe,_ in order to get me to remove my dates jacket? Oh, and also to order me back to the TARDIS by threatening to _erase_ my dates memory and kick me out of your life? All so you can go chasing a bloody nursery rhyme! Is that the kind of manipulative you mean?”

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak but shut it again when he noticed the fire burning behind Clara’s eyes. She was right and there wasn’t much he could say to dispute it.

“I’m going to bed,” she eventually said. “And when I wake up, I want to be home.”

“Clara, the TARDIS deleted your bedroom.“

Normally she would have demanded a new one, but she was really too tired to argue anymore so instead she curled up on his easy chair, making a point to have her back to him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, “you can’t just sleep there. Clara? Clara?”

She ignored him and curled into a tighter ball.

~*~*~*~*~

Clara woke to the smell of hot coffee and the warmth of what, for a moment, she hopped was Malcolm’s jacket. Then she remembered The Doctor had thrown it away, and then it had been sucked through an airlock.

“Clara?”

She opened her eyes, blinking back the bright lights of the TARDIS, and saw The Doctor leaning over her. She groaned, remembering the row last night and not feeling prepared to take the backlash of it this morning. “If you’re going to kick me out, just do it,” she said, “actually now would probably be best. I’m too tired to argue with you.”

“I don’t want to kick you out,” he said, daring to sound shocked. “I just want to… discuss it.”

 _That sound ominous,_ she thought, finally stretching out her limbs and sitting up in the chair. A plaid blanket was laid across her – she frowned, she didn’t remember _that._

“You were shivering,” The Doctor explained. “The noise was irritating.”

“Right,” she said, getting to her feet and straightening her dress out. “So come on then, let’s discuss it. Get it out of the way.”

The Doctor looked across at her, seemingly disappointed with her attitude toward the whole thing, but after a while he stood straight and shrugged. “Fine, let’s get it out of the way. _You,”_ he accused, “didn’t listen to a single word I said. I told you to stay inside the TARDIS, but instead you risked your life and in the process nearly got sucked into an airlock. You must _never_ do that, Clara. Do you understand me? You must never risk your life for mine again, because that is the deal. You stay safe. Always.”

It took Clara a whole thirty seconds to process what he just said – he was angry because she saved him? She’d all but forgotten about that bit; she thought he was going to ‘discuss’ how she forced him into taking off. She definitely thought he’d apologise. “Oh,” Clara said, failing to keep her misunderstanding hidden. “Well I uh, I couldn’t just leave you. But look, we’re both fine. It all worked out for the best.”

“That’s not the point,” he said gruffly. “ Anyway, I’ve returned you to your flat, the morning after as requested. I’m assuming that’s alright?”

Clara was dumfounded. He really wasn’t going to talk about it? Had she been mistaken in thinking she could evoke his jealousy? Maybe he had just been angry with her for risking her life… Maybe their whole argument had meant nothing to him. “Yeah, that’s fine.” She made her way to the doors, “there’s uh, nothing else you want to talk about? Nothing else to say before I leave?”

“No,” then he frowned. “Should there be?”

Clara shook her head, disappointed that he wouldn’t even acknowledge their row, let alone apologise for it. “I suppose not.” He didn’t answer and Clara took it as her queue to leave. She got one foot outside the TARDIS.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Looking over her shoulder Clara saw The Doctor holding none other than Malcolm’s blazer. Granted he was holding it at a distance between his forefinger and thumb, and he was pulling the most hideous face while look at it, but nonetheless, he still had it. “How did you…”

“I went back while you were sleeping,” he said. “Waited until we were occupied and then grabbed it.”

She couldn’t stop the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as once again she approached him. “Okay, but… Why? You hate that thing.”

The Doctor suddenly looked sheepish. “Do you know you talk in your sleep? At first I thought you were shivering, but the words got clearer and do you know what you were asking for?” He held up the blazer, “this thing. You were pinning for _this._ ”

Clara, even from the distance she was standing, could see how much it upset him that even in sleep she was asking for something related to another man, but because she had asked for it, despite how much he hadn’t wanted to, he’d gone back to get it for her. Clara realised The Doctor was terrible at saying sorry, but he was brilliant at showing it

“Really?”

The Doctor got defensive. “Do you think I’m lying to you?”

Clara smiled, feeling her eyes begin to water, and before The Doctor could protest she came at him and captured him in a hug. “No you idiot,” she spoke into his jumper, “I didn’t think you were lying.”

It took a few seconds but eventually she felt The Doctor relax and his arms wrapped around her. “Clara,” his voice was tentative, “am I forgiven?”

She sighed. “Only if you promise to never send me away again, the last time you did that and I listened...” Clara’s words faltered, the last time that happened they’d been on Trenzalor and he’d sent her away, back to Earth, while he spent two thousand years alone. Then when she was returned to him, he changed… he _died._

The Doctor held her a bit tighter. “That wasn’t me. Bow-tie was an idiot.”

“You’re the same man, Doctor. It was part of you.”

“So you’ll keep seeing date-guy?” he asked, quick to change the subject from his former self, “because you think I’ll leave you again?”

Clara pulled away from him. “I _like_ date-guy,” she said, “I _really_ like him. Not everything is about you, you know.” Although, she had to admit, it was the reason she started dating in the first place. “So yes, I’ll keep seeing him.”

 “And did you mean what you said? What you said you’d _do_ with him?”

“If you threaten to wipe his mind again,” she replied, refusing to be intimidated, “then I wont just do it, but I’ll tell you about it in immense detail.”

The Doctors eyes darkened. “You’re not playing fair.”

Clara shrugged. “I learnt from the best.”


	6. 6: A Day At The Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm calls Clara to the office and as the night draws to a close, they find themselves sharing more than a bottle of wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long - life has been hectic!  
> I hope this is worth the wait and, just to let you know the next chapter is already nearly done and involves Clara x Twelve and a certain re-write of a certain scene with a Teller.

Malcolm was balls deep in paper work. Everywhere he turned  _another_ pile of fuck-ups waited for him and no one else had the brains required to get it done. The PM was calling him every thirty seconds for an update, DoSAC was tripping over it’s own feet and Nicola Murray… well, does it need saying? So, Malcolm had been living off coffee for the past three days and forgetting to do much else in-between.

It was getting to him, not because the work was hard, fuck no, he could do that with his eyes shut, but because Clara had asked him three days ago to give her a call and he still hadn’t found the time to do it. Sure, they had exchanged a few text messages, but it was all above board and very _not_ date-like at all. It wasn’t like Malcolm Tucker to keep a lady at a distance, especially not one as interesting – or as pretty - as she was. And the more he thought about it, the more it wound him up. He was Malcolm-Fucking-Tucker for Christ sake; he wasn’t shy and retiring about any aspect of his life so why had she initiated every interaction between them?

He always imagined he’d be domineering in their encounters, but every time he laid eyes on her, his mouth didn’t function right and he either said nothing or spewed abuse. He knew he had to stop acting like such a fucking pansy, and decided that on their next encounter he’d remind himself to relax and not put his foot in his mouth.  

There was a knock on his door and Sam stuck her head inside his office. “Nicola Murray has just arrived,” she said, already flinching from his anticipated reaction.

“Fuck,” he said, already feeling his blood pressure rise. “Fuck, _fuck, fuck!_ What does she fucking want?”

Sam shrugged and hurried back out of his office, returning a moment later with Nicola Murray in toe. She was flustered, as usual, and he wondered if she ever had any other kind of facial expression. “Ah, Mrs. Havisham, looking as mental as fucking always, I see.”

“Can we save the petty name calling for later?” she said, attempting to straighten out her frazzled hair. “Something serious is happening and look, you promised my private life would stay out of the media, but my husband-“

“Come the fuck on Murray,” Malcolm gestured for her to speak quicker. “Spit it out – I hear you’re good at that.”

She tried to give him a glare, but it came out all cross-eyed. “I’ve been called into the school, that shitty comprehensive one you made me put my daughter into, because apparently there’s an issue with bullying.”

“So fucking what,” he began picking through a pile of paperwork. “Kids get bullied every day.  Tell her to get the fuck up and carry the fuck on. Might even be good for you, you know, endear the public to your socially inept daughter. Like Forrest Gump; dense as dark matter, but as endearing as a puppy with cross-eyes.”

Nicola gave a frustrated groan. “No, Malcolm. _She’s_ the bully. The school want to expel her. Apparently she assaulted a girl in Science class and then started spreading… explicit… rumours about one of the teachers. Somehow it’s got out and now the press are hanging around like cats in heat for a leak.”

 _That_ caught his attention. It was the last thing he needed right now, but Nicola had been making such a mess in her job that it was starting to dirty the PM and he hadn’t been happy. So he’d especially asked Malcolm to put all ‘Murray-Malfunctions’ to the top of his priority list.

“I should of known,” he said, throwing down the paper in his hand. “You couldn’t raise a dick, let alone a daughter.” He racked his brain for a moment. “Right, right okay here’s what we’re going to do.  You are going to go to the school; you are going to convince that head teacher to keep her there, right? And you’re not, do you hear me, _not,_ going to talk to the press. Right?”

 “O-Okay, but-“

“That teacher they were gossiping about, what’s the name?” He’d have to dig up some dirt if things went pear shaped – which they certainly would if Nicola was involved.

“Uh, Owen? No wait, Oswin? No uh it was… um…”

“Oswald?” he offered, surprised to hear her name, but pleased that he did.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” she said, making no attempt to move.

“Well fuck off then.” He shooed her away, “we have work to do.”

He watched Nicola scurry away and even though she’d just added a whole new pile of problems to his ever-growing list, he also knew that Clara was the teacher with naughty little rumours attached to her. He wondered what kind of stories were running around the school play ground, he wondered what she’d been seen doing in order to start the Chinese whispers. Oh, his mind went to dark places.

Before he could talk himself out of it he picked up his phone and dialled her number. She picked up on the fifth ring. “Malcolm I’m in the middle of class-“

“Clara,” he said, the sound of her voice only making it harder for him to control his thoughts. “I’m bringing you into my office,” _to screw you on the desk,_ he thought. “To understand exactly what kind of salacious little rumours have been spread about you. It’s a huge fucking mess, you see, and the fuck-up that is Nicola Murray has her daughter in the middle of it. So you need to come here, to me, and I can tell you why you’re not going to breathe a word of it to the press.”

Clara took a moment to control her breathing before she replied. “Oh?”

“Oh indeed,” Malcom repeated, “because if you do there will be consequences - punishments. And I’ll be sure to exact those punishments myself.” He took her not replying as a yes, so continued on. “I’ll send a car and a college to collect you. See you soon, Miss Oswald.”

Malcolm ended the call and took a deep breath. He’d got a bit ahead of himself there, been a little too… _honest_ about his intentions. It wouldn’t be a bad thing if she were his… whatever the hell he wanted them to end up being, but she wasn’t - not yet anyway.

And it wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned their next meeting, after all who the fuck wanted to be dragged into a politicians office? But this was an opportunity to see Clara, the girl he really shouldn’t be thinking about but had been. He’d take his chance and run with it, having no fucking idea what the outcome would be.

~*~*~*~*~

Clara felt completely under-dressed. She’d never been to Parliament before, but she was sure her loosely cut brown dress wasn’t acceptable attire. She’d been in the middle of class when Malcolm phoned and told her he wanted to see her in his office. It was a request that had come out of the blue, but hearing his voice and knowing she’d be able to lay her eyes on him soon was enough to make any protest die before she’d made them.

It was about forty minutes after the phone call that she was called out of class and then handed over to a young man with hair so curly it looked like it was standing to attention.

His name was Ollie and he’d sort-of explained that there was an issue with Nicola Murray’s daughter, and that since _she_ was the target of the gossip going round, she’d need to go to talk to one of Nicola Murrays representatives to make a statement. Then they’d both got into the back of a black car and nothing more was said. Clara didn’t tell him she’d already spoken to Malcolm since she guessed that if he was sending people to come and collect her, he was trying to make their involvement with each other as unobvious as possible.

 “You’re that woman aren’t you?” Ollie eventually said after staring at her for a long while. “The one who shouted at Malcolm the day we came to your school.”

Clara smiled. “The one and only.”

Oliver looked at her with awe. “If only I’d recorded that. It’s still talk in the office, you know. Malcolm Tucker getting bollocked by a school teacher – you’re somewhat of a legend at DoSAC.”

Even though it irritated Clara that the people at DoSAC, whatever DoSAC was, had nothing better to do than snigger about Malcolm, she let it slide, deciding that flirting with this young man would get her more information than shouting at him. “Well,” she said, “no one talks to me like he tried to and gets away with it.”

“You’d be great to have around the office,” he said, fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

“Is that an invite?” she teased and once again the boy went all bug eyed. She flirted with him a little more, and before long he was telling her all about Malcolm. Little stories from the office, situations and rumours that the infamous Tucker had been involved in. She was particularly interested in the idea that a few years ago Malcolm had been involved with a health correspondent from the BBC – Kelly Grogan – and that when she’d gone and jumped into bed with someone else, Malcolm had harboured a jealous rage and done almost anything in his power to destroy the career of the other man.

Clara liked the idea of a jealous Malcolm and wondered if he’d ever feel that passionately about her.

When the car pulled to a stop and they got out, Oliver lead her through this expensive looking building, down carpeted, busy hallways until they finally got to a room with a lady sitting behind a desk as the only main feature.

“You can go in,” she said, gesturing to the door beside her.

“Thank you,” Clara said, all but leading the way. It seemed the closer they got to the door, the slower Oliver’s pace became. She could hear Malcolm’s dulcet tones before she’d even pushed the door open.

He had his back to her, hunched over his mobile hissing insults at the receiver. Clara took in the scene around her and felt a little bit taken aback. For a man who was dressed as well as Malcolm always was – pressed and laundered suits, perfectly knotted ties, clean cufflinks – it was beyond surprising to see his office in such a state. Paperwork, folders, fax machines, binders, boxes… pile upon pile of stuff littered the room. Yet behind all the mess she could make out a shelf full of videocassettes, all labelled and organised. The whole space was full of contradictions.

“Yeah, you do that, you fucking pathetic two bit gobshite!” Malcolm hung up and threw his mobile down on the desk.

Clara waited for a few seconds for Oliver to introduce her, but the poor boy didn’t even have half a foot in the door and already looked like he was about to wet himself. “Mr. Tucker?” she eventually said, “is now a bad time?”

Malcolm spun round, his eyes resting on her for just a moment before they zeroed in on Oliver. “Why the fuck are you still here?”

“I-I-uh-I’ll just-“

“Thank you for showing me in, Ollie,” Clara said, aware of the daggers Malcolm was shooting their way. “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

Oliver couldn’t have left fast enough and when the door was shut behind him, Clara appraised Malcolm from head to toe. He was dressed in a similar beige suit that he wore to their date, but his eyes had deep bags under them and she could’ve sworn he’d developed more lines on his face. “Christ Malcolm,” she said, “did a bomb go off in here?”

Now they were alone it was his turn to look over her from head to toe in a very deliberate fashion. Malcolm tried to tell himself she was _too_ young for him and this visit was just business, but he wasn’t really listening.  “No,” he said, “just Nicola Murray.”

Clara had no idea who Nicola Murray was, but didn’t bother asking. “You know,” she said, “if you wanted me in your office you could have just picked me up after work. You didn’t need to roll out the black car and nervous understudy treatment”

Malcolm felt a bit guilty then, after all if it hadn’t been for the convenient mess up, he probably still wouldn’t have phoned her. But fuck it, she was here, that was all that mattered. “Do you always dress like that for school?”

“Why?” Clara pulled at the bottom of her dress that was higher cut at the front and flowing at the back. “You don’t like it?”

“On the contrary,” he said, “now I can understand why Nicolas daughter found it so easy to spread such salacious rumours about you. I bet all the boys in your class have strong writing hands.” Malcolm made a jerking off motion.

Clara glowered. “Not as strong as yours I bet. No wonder you’re so behind on paperwork.”

Malcolm, once again, looked at her from head to toe, eyes lingering on her chest and then on her legs. “You have _no_ idea.” There was a brief moment when silence filled the room and anything, anything at all could have happened, but neither acted on it and Malcolm cleared his throat. “You’re here because-“

“Oh, I know,” Clara said, coming into his office and taking a seat. “Ollie filled me in on the bits you were vague about. You don’t need to try and scaremonger me, Malcolm. I won’t breathe a word to the press about anything. Murray’s daughter is just a kid, it’s just rumours. I’m a teacher; it’s practically a daily occurrence.”

Malcolm realised then how weak his premise for calling her in here was, leaving his truer intentions exposed. It was nothing more than an excuse to see her and he’d hoped dressing it up with scary threats and important sounding words would have hidden it. Thanks to Ollie, no such luck. “Well since you’re so clued up and I have no fucking idea, how about you fill me in on what exactly these rumours are?” The expression on her face told him he’d gained the upper hand and he really quite liked it. “No? Then how about you tell me how they started?” Malcolm leaned cross his desk toward her, “what were you doing?”

Clara swallowed the lump in her throat. Honestly, it was all The Doctors fault. Ever since he found her in another mans coat he’d been dropping by at impromptu and badly-times moments and it was nearly always when she was teaching a class. He’d make an excuse and then whisk her off somewhere. A lot of running would happen, or slime or water, or at one point cold lava, and by the time he dropped her back to the same day she’d stumble out of the cupboard looking thoroughly worn out and rumpled. That added to the fact that twice now she’d been caught coming out the cupboard by the same male teacher had sparked rumours that she’d been getting more than paper from the confines of the storage room. “It’s nothing,” she said, making a point to be vague. “I’ve been seen with the same teacher a few times, you know what kids imaginations are like; they run wild.”

“The same man, eh?” Malcolm would have been jealous if she’d elaborated but something about how vague she was being told him that her story wasn’t entirely true. And even though he should probably drop it now, he couldn’t and found that his more flirty, seductive, overpowering nature came to the forefront when he was around her too long. “What were you caught doing, Clara? Did he have you in the classroom? Over the desk? In the cupboard? Because I’ve heard you’ve been walking around Coal Hill School looking thoroughly shagged.”

Clara blushed a deep red – not because it was true, but because she _wanted_ it to be true. She could see herself in each one of those scenarios with Malcolm… or with The Doctor. “No,” she said, “it’s not like that. The Doctor just-“

“Doctor? Doctor–who-the-fuck-is-that?”

Clara couldn’t back track fast enough. The plan had been to keep them _out_ of each other knowledge, not swap stories with them. She had to change the subject and fast. “I could say the same thing to you, Tucker. Ollie told me all about Kelly Grogan and the little rendezvous you and her shared on those late, lonely nights.” Clara had the satisfaction of watching him nearly choke on his own tongue. Wasn’t expecting _that one_ now were we, Tucker?

“How the _fuck_ did you-“ then he paused and his face turned into thunder. “OLLIE!” he roared. “Where is that lanky streak of cunting piss! Where the fuck has that mincing little bastard-“

“Tucker,” Clara said, trying not to laugh at his anger, “relax. I wont tell anyone.”

“That’s not the fucking point,” he began to pace until his phone started beeping. After a quick glance at the screen he excused himself and left the room, though a moment later he popped his head back in the door. “And don’t touch anything, right?”

 Clara watched him leave. She sat still for as long as she could, but ten minutes in and she was restless. The mess of the office was making her woozy and before long the simple action of straightening out a bunch of papers had turned into full-blown organising.

When Malcolm returned, twenty-five minutes later, it was with the news that he had to go to DoSAC because rumour had it the opposition was coming in to ‘measure the drapes’. He’d been fuming, after all he’d only just found an excuse to see Clara again, and now work was even attempting to cut that short. Well, not on his watch.

“Clara-“ he began, but spluttered out nothing more than a cough when he saw Clara bent right over his desk, trying desperately to reach a stay paper that had floated out of her reach. He felt like a dirty old man as his eyes roamed over her, lingering on her backside barely visible through the black tights tights. He could feel arousal starting in the pit of his stomach – he had to do something, and quick. “What the fuck are you doing?” he barked, trying to look like he wasn’t guilty.

Clara jumped at the sound of his voice and stood up. “Sorry,” she said, now facing him. “I just thought I could help you organise-“

“What part of _don’t fucking touch_ was so hard to understand?” Malcolm walked over to the tidied corner of his office and eyes the piles she’d made. Much to his surprise they were in some kind of correct order. He wouldn’t say that, though.

Seemingly over the surprise of being caught in the act, Clara folded her arms across her chest. “If you’re going to spend time with me, Malcolm the one thing you need to know is that I don’t take orders. And anyway, I helped didn’t I? You’ve still got a whole office to do, so don’t worry no ones going to accuse you of slacking off.” They had a bit of a staring standoff before Clara sighed, “so is that it then? Am I free to go? Because I have a whole day off now and I can think of a thousand better things to do with my time than be told off by you.”

Malcolm racked his brain, trying to think of something to say to get her to stay. He didn’t want to ruin whatever the hell he had going on with Clara over _paperwork._ “I need you at DoSAC,” he said finally

Clara kept heading toward the door. “Sorry, I’m bored of politics now.”

Malcolm tried again. “I _want_ you at DoSAC.”

She looked over her shoulder at him, eyebrow raised. “For more meetings?”

 _Fuck,_ he thought, _she’s going to make me say it._ “No,” he said slowly, not really able to recall when he’d been so submissive around someone, “for company.”

She smiled, triumphant. “Okay.”

~*~*~*~*~

Clara watched with awe as Malcolm Tucker patrolled the halls of DoSAC. It was a strange thing to see him in his own territory because she quickly realised that his tirades of swearing when he was around her were nothing, _nothing,_ compared to the havoc he caused on his own turf.

People scurried from his view and those forced to pass him in the hallways nearly shrunk into themselves just to make sure they gave him a personal space of five ft at all times. As much as she would openly dispute it, deep down the idea of a dominating, powerful Malcolm really got her going. And honestly, when he tore into Phil, she wanted to give him a round of applause. It was a perfect trap, flawless in delivery and execution.

By the time Malcolm had Phil backed against a wall, Clara and Ollie had taken refuge inside a little closet and were watching through the thin glass window. Ollie was giggling like a schoolgirl, clearly pleased he wasn’t the target and Clara was watching on with intense interest – and secretly, attraction.

“…you would have to be reassembled by fucking air crash investigators.” Phil tried to interrupt and Clara visibly winced, even she knew that was probably a bad idea. “DO NOT FUCKING interrupt me, son, ever! Now get this into your noggin, right. You breathe a word of this, to anyone,” Malcolm was pointing a finger in his face now, “you mincing, fucking _cunt,_ and I will tear your fucking skin off, I will wear it to your mothers birthday party and I will rub your nuts up and down her leg while whistling Bohemian fucking Rhapsody, right?!”

“Y-yeah-“

“Now get out of my fucking sight.”

Clara watched Phil back away from Malcolm like a deer trying to escape a pack of lions. She was almost convinced he’d soiled himself by the way he was walking. Ollie snickered, “did you see how scared he was? I think I can still smell the shit emanating from his trousers.”

She wanted to reply by reminding him of the facial expression _he_ wore every time Malcolm so much as looked at him, but thought better of it. “Mr. Tucker knows how to entertain,” she agreed.

Ollie cocked his head. “You’re really not afraid of him are you?” He made a sound of disbelief then smiled. “I realise this might be a bit… you know, but how about me and you go and get a drink? Or, you know, something?”

Clara felt like her best friends younger brother was hitting her on. Even though she knew Ollie was about the same age as her, and probably a far more appropriate choice, he held no appeal for her. He was mild, cowardly, and sneaky for the sake of being sneaky. He was too young – Clara liked an experienced man.

“Ollie-“ she started.

“Oi, foetus boy!” Malcolm forced his way into the already cramped room, bearing down on Oliver. “Get the fuck out of here, now!”

Clara had never seen anyone look as visibly terrified as poor Ollie did whenever Malcolm opened his mouth. “That wasn’t very nice,” she told him, moving into the space Ollie’s absence created.

“Yeah well I’m not a very fucking nice guy.” Malcolm huffed then fired the next question at her. “Did I hear right? Did that little arse-weasel ask you out?”

“Jealous?” Clara said.

Malcolm’s immediate reaction was to rebuff her accusation, but he stopped himself. _Of course,_ he was jealous. He’d had a date with Clara, hadn’t he, didn’t that give him the right to at least be a little bit envious if she was entertaining other men? The thing was, if he was twenty years younger, or she was twenty years older, he wouldn’t even hesitate. He’d tell her he was jealous, explain in exquisite detail how he intended to claim her for himself and then sneak her off to show her. But she was young and Malcolm wasn’t quite sure, or couldn’t quite believe, that her interest in him was attraction based.

He had to think about work too. It would fucking water board his career if, beyond being caught with a girl young enough to be his daughter, he was rebuffed by her.

“Of Ollie?” he said, stepping out of the room, suddenly aware of how small the space between them was. “Are you taking the piss?”

Clara shrugged, apparently unthawed by his denial. “I’ll say yes then, maybe he’ll surprise you and show me a good time.”

Malcolm paused – she meant that and he knew she did. Ollie had a reputation for weaselling his way into women’s pants and Clara was starting to seem like a woman who kept her word. The thought of them together bothered him more than expected so, after having a quick look up and down the hallway to make sure no one was around, he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her back into the little room.  “A good time, eh?” He tried to keep distance between them, he tried not to push her against the wall and take her then and there – who knew he was a bit of a voyeur? “Oliver Reeder couldn’t find his way around a woman’s body if I fucking drew him a step by step map.”

Clara raised an eyebrow. “And you’re Don Juan I take it?”

“No love,” he leaned toward her, being sure to keep one hand on the door handle as a reminder _not_ to touch her. “I’m _better._ ”

Clara nearly leaned in then, nearly thought ‘screw it’ and kissed him with all the desire she was feeling, but then right on queue to kill the moment, Malcolms phone began to ring and Clara could tell by the way he glared at the receiver she wasn’t the only one annoyed by the interruption. “You need to get that,” she said.

“Tucker,” he said, as he picked up the phone. While the conversation went on, his eyes never left hers and Clara was partly tempted to start playing with his tie, maybe toy with the buttons of his blazer, or tease his belt buckle…ruffle his feathers a bit while he was trying to concentrate. But she wouldn’t, not yet, not somewhere they could be caught and in turn ruin his career. When they were alone however…

“Right. I’ll be right there.” Malcolm hang up and gave her an apologetic look. “I need to-“

“I know,” she said with a smile. “I’ll…”

“Wait in the car,” he added. “It’s too late for you to go home alone. Who knows what weird fuckers are hanging around out there.”

Clara looked at her watch – it was only eight thirty and she was more than capable of seeing herself home, but something told her that ‘stay in the car’ was Malcolm’s way of saying ‘wait for me’ and _of course_ she would do that. She shrugged. “Alright, but don’t be hours. A lady doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Malcolm huffed and stormed off down the corridor, already thinking of ways to make this meeting go faster.

~*~*~*~*~

It was an hour and a half later when Malcolm finally returned to the car. As soon as he got in, he was ranting about the idiots he’d been dealing with. Clara had wanted to put him through the ringer a bit for taking so long, but found his complaining quite sweet – maybe she was wrong, but it sounded an awful lot like he was trying to say ‘sorry I’m late.’

So she let him talk, half listening to the inner workings of the meeting, half just staring at the way his face became so beautifully animated when he was worked up about something. It seemed he was as enthusiastic about verbally maiming people as The Doctor was when he found a new challenge.

By the time they _finally_ made it back to his office, it was nearing eleven. Neither had eaten and Clara had tried to convince him to go home and eat something, but Malcolm was too stubborn to admit how hungry he was and insisted that he go back to the office – it was his stomach growling that gave him away.

Clara looked over at him. “Not hungry, huh?”

If it had been earlier, or he had been less tired, he might have suggested a restaurant – or hell, he might have even cooked for her. But it was late and just the thought of hot, greasy food had him drooling. He hoped she wouldn’t mind.

“Thai?” he eventually said.

Clara nodded, then laughed when he pulled out his phone. “You have them on speed dial?”

He pushed open the door to his office and gestured to the mess inside. “A lot of late nights.”

While Malcolm ordered – one of everything it sounded like – Clara reintroduced herself to the mess that was his office. Even though he’d kicked off earlier, her good conscience couldn’t leave without at least _helping_ him tidy it. If she didn’t, who knew what time he’d finally crawl out of this building?

She had her hands buried deep in a binder when he eventually got off the phone. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked. “I thought I said-“

“Yeah, and I told you I don’t take orders.” Clara moved a pile of paper and then sat on the floor in the space it created. “So tell me how you want this done and we can work through it, together.”

Malcolm gave her a deadpan look. “I didn’t ask you back to the office to turn you into my fucking human organiser.”

“Oh?” Clara raised an eyebrow. “What did you ask me back here for then?”

Really he’d wanted to take her out – take her to a nice little coffee shop with a private bit upstairs. Or maybe to a fancy food place where he could wine her and dine her and show her the benefits of being with a man like him rather than a boy like Ollie. The plan had been to seduce her slowly with mature ease, but now he was looking at her – looking at her petite figure sitting all innocent and cross-legged on his office floor with her big brown eyes looking at him… taking it slowly felt impossible. He wanted her here – now – over his desk, under his desk, it didn’t really matter.

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” he eventually said, having to turn away from her to try and cool down. “But it wasn’t paperwork, I can tell you that much.”

Clara frowned. “Well I’m here now. Do you really expect me to leave all this,” she gestured to the mess, “knowing full well that the moment my back is turned you’ll work through the night to get it done. Then try – and fail – to run on fumes in the morning.” She smiled at him, “and we all know that the British Government can’t operate with a semi-functional Malcolm.”

Malcolm couldn’t stop his lips from twitching at the corners. “You’re really fucking stubborn aren’t you?”

She shrugged and tapped the floor next to her. “So are you going to help me or just stand there looking rather distracting?”

Defeated – and not minding it – he sat on the floor beside her. “Fuck it.”

~*~*~*~*~

It was two in the morning when the last bit of paperwork was put into the right place. They had gorged themselves on Thai food and shared two bottles of wine; they had chatted like old friends and flirted like new ones, so despite feeling exhausted, Clara was fighting to stay awake because she didn’t want this to end.

“You need to get home,” Malcolm said, his voice bringing her out of her dozing.

Clara was shaking her head before she’d even opened her eyes. “No, no, um… tell me more about DoSi… no wait, RoSAC?” Instead of a response she heard Malcolm get to his feet and then the rustle of material as he put the blazer he’d shed hours ago back on.

He tried again. “Clara, you can’t-“

She groaned and opened her eyes. “I know, I know.”

Malcolm helped her to her feet and then watched her stagger around a bit until she was steady again. “My driver will take you home,” he said. He was expecting her to argue, but much to his surprise she shrugged.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Well fuck me, it’s take nine hours but you’ve finally let me have my way.”

Clara pointed a playful finger at him. “Don’t get used to it.”

There was an awkward moment as Clara put her jacket on – she wanted to see him again. In the few hours she’d spent on the floor with Malcolm she’d seen a different side to him. The side that knew how to make jokes and hold a conversation without an ulterior motive… but earlier in the cupboard he’d made it seem that maybe there would be _more_ than talking going on. And even though they’d had a bit of a harmless flirt, it seemed that whenever Clara got too close, he’d back peddle faster than ever.

“Mal-“

“Clar-“

They laughed, gently – nervously.

“Clara,” Malcolm started again. “I hope you didn’t think this was a date.”

She felt her heart sink; she knew it. “It’s alright Tucker. I’m not going to turn into one of those crazy women just because you don’t want to see me again.” Clara touched his arm, “I can see myself out.”

Malcolm had a dilemma. On the one hand he’d never – ever – gone after a woman before, but this was Clara, the one woman who might actually be able to handle him and yet here she was making it seem like _he_ was the one who didn’t want her. He wasn’t fucking having that. “Hold your fucking horses,” he grabbed her hand, and she looked over her shoulder. “I don’t mean I don’t want to see you again, I mean,” he dropped his tone slightly, “that I can do better. _Much_ better. When Malcolm F Tucker takes someone on a date, they fucking know about it.”

Clara could feel her hand heating up in his. Touching him, even in this simple way, felt as electric as it did when she stole a touch from The Doctor. The heat she felt from forcing a hug on the timelord was the same, if not lesser, than the heat she was feeling from being this close to Malcolm. “So another date?” she said, now turning fully to face him.

“Mmhmm,” Malcolm was finding it hard to form words now. She was looking up, leaning towards him, lips slightly parted… _fuck,_ he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to kill Nicola Murray – and _that_ was saying something.

With her free hand; because their other two were still interlocked, Clara reached up and grabbed his lapel, then pulled his head down toward her. “You’re too tall,” she muttered before taking a jittery breath and then, ever so gently, pressing her lips to Malcolm Tuckers.

He kissed her back without hesitation and though it wasn’t a full on, tongue tying, hungry kiss, there was a subtle hint of intent. There was enough feeling, enough pressure in the simple lip touch that told them both there would be more to come and soon if they kept this up.

Clara pulled away. “How was that for a not-a-date-kiss?” she asked.

Malcolm groaned - The sound made Clara’s knees go weak. “You’re a little tease, aren’t you?”

A smile ghosted her mouth. “You’re one to talk.”

“Tomorrow night,” he said – his voice was eager, decided. “A car will pick you up from Coal Hill and bring you to my home. A proper date, a proper good time… a proper kiss.”

“I-“

“Fucking hell, Clara,” now he sounded worried. “Say yes or God-fucking-help me.”

Before answering Clara dared one more fleeting kiss. Then, with a concerted effort she stepped back from Malcolm and grinned. “Tomorrow night. Your place. It’s a date.”


	7. 7: Don't Tell'em

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor takes Clara on a date with dangerous consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> certain parts of this chapter were inspired by a headcanon I read on TUMBLR. :)   
> I hope you enjoy :)

Clara, after pulling out her entire wardrobe, had settled on a deep purple suit. The blazer was tight fitting, low cut and done up with two buttons. The trousers, she made sure hugged her backside and thighs as tightly as possible and then she put on a loose white shirt – with a deep v-neck – and then at the last minute put on a black tie leaving it to hang more like a necklace.

She was determined to be irresistible to Malcolm tonight. Since last night at the office, they had exchanged a few text messages – much to her pleasure all initiated by Tucker himself. Apparently he was quite prepared for her arrival tonight and had even ‘moved heaven and earth’ to get the evening away from work – unfortunately The Doctor had other ideas.

Half way through her school day, The Doctor arrived and tried to talk her into an adventure. She hadn’t been prepared for it then and skilfully declined, so he insisted that he see her after work. When she’d protested he pulled the ‘don’t-you-want-to-spend-time-with-me’ guilt trip and despite herself Clara had given in.

So she’d text Malcolm her home address and pushed the date back a few hours but now it was 7:30, she was half an hour late, The Doctor was parading around her flat like a drunken toddler and Malcolm was _not_ happy.

“If you didn’t want come, you should have just fucking said.”

Clara pressed the phone to her ear. “I _want_ to come over Malcolm, it’s just…” she looked helplessly over to The Doctor who was currently in a staring competition with her goldfish. “Something has come up, so I wont be there until later.”

“Well it’s already fucking later. Dinner’s as ruined as Hugh Abbots career and I’ve moved some really important stuff around to see you. What the fuck is so important that you can’t put it off for one evening?”

“I – I uh…”

“The Satanic Nebula,” The Doctor said, as he finally broke eye contact with the fish and walked toward her. “Or the lagoon of lost stars?” Clara tried to shush him, but he ignored her and came closer, speaking louder as well. “Or we could go to Brighton – I’ve got a whole day worked out.”

“Is that another _man?!”_ Malcolm sounded livid and like he was crashing pots and pans about as he spoke.

“N-No, it’s just…” What? My Time travelling Alien friend who, by the way, looks exactly like you and who may or may not be trying to date me. “Its just stuff.” Clara sighed; she knew how useless that answer sounded.

“Stuff?” Malcolm gave a bitter laugh. “Well, good to fucking know I’ve been bumped off your oh-so-important-fucking-schedule for _stuff!”_ Clara tried to cut in, but he wasn’t having it. _“_ You know what, don’t bother. I’ve got better things to do with time like slip into a fucking coma.”

The line went dead and Clara had to bite her bottom lip to stop from crying, or swearing, or something. She hated how snappy Malcolm could be, and was convinced that this first argument would be their last. She really felt like she’d blown it with him – why hadn’t she just told The Doctor no? Malcolm had made time for her… The Doctor came whenever he pleased. Clara, despite herself, glared at The Doctor, partially blaming him for the fall out. 

“The Satanic Nebula,” Clara said, storming into her room and trying to unlatch the strap on her heel.

The Doctor followed after her. “Good choice. Might need shoes though, lots of hot rocks and… biting rocks.”

“No, oh no,” now she was sitting on her bed, practically wrestling with the damn shoe. “I’m not going anywhere; I have plans.”

 “Yes, with me.”

She gave him her best death glare. “No, _not_ with you; definitely _not_ with you. Thanks to your loud, big, stupid mouth my real plans are cancelled and now I’m just going to sit at home with a bottle of red wine. You go off to Satansville or whatever it’s bloody called and stay there.”

The Doctor leaned against her bedroom door-frame. “Satanic Nebula,” he corrected, clearly not grasping just how agitated she was. “And going alone is dull. Not as dull as wine drinking or,” he waved his hands toward her discarded phone, “date-guy.”

If Clara had managed to wriggle her heel of, she would have thrown it at him. “So you did know! You knew about the date and you’ve purposely ruined it, haven’t you?”

His face was blank. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Clara gave a frustrated groan and pushed past him, which if she didn’t know him better, she’d say he intended.

 “Clara,” he whined, following after her like a lost puppy. “You said I could come and see you whenever I wanted, you said I could take you on a date. And today is a good day for a date, don’t you think?”

Clara’s step faltered; that sounded an awful lot like a smug answer. “Not anymore.” As he opened his mouth to respond the TARDIS phone began to ring and Clara thanked the lord for small mercies. “There you go; you’ve got another playmate.”

“Hardly anyone in the universe has that number.”

“Well, I’ve got it.”

The Doctor shrugged. “Yes, from some woman in a shop. We still don’t know who that was.” He turned to his TARDIS that was –badly – parked in her living room and reached for the phone.

For some reason, Clara suddenly thought that was a bad idea. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” He looked smug, “you can’t send me away and then get angry when I’m about to go.”

“It’s not that. If you answer it, something will happen and in-case you’ve not heard me the first two times, _I have plans.”_

He ignored her. “It’s just a phone, Clara. Nothing happens when you answer the phone.”

~*~*~*~*~

Clara could’ve killed him. She _told_ him. She said not to answer the phone – but he did and now they were in a Bank, being led around by a mad man who’s end goal seemed to kill them all. To top it off they had a brain-melting monster chasing them too. Clara couldn’t help but wish she were snuggled up on Malcolm’s sofa instead.

And the thing was, Clara hated the running at the best of times – it was an exercise she could do without. But, more often than not she could bare it, she could keep going even when her legs were wobbling, or her breath was laboured or even when she knew that the next corner she turned was going to be her last – Clara could keep running because she knew The Doctor would be running by her side.

But this time, but this moment when she really needed him to stay by her side, The Doctor decided to stop at a cross section and leave her on her own. “It’s locked onto one of our brain trails,” he said, giving her his usual ‘this-is-bad-but-I-love-it’ look. “We have to split up, minimise the brain signals.”

“No way,” she said. “I-I- can’t, we just can’t-“

“Clara,” he was already turning his back on her. “If you trust me, we need to separate.”

She wanted to argue, would have argued, but she trusted The Doctor more than she trusted herself and if he said this was for the best, she’d willingly oblige. “Just for the record,” she called over her shoulder as she ran off down the opposite hall, “this is the worst date ever!”

Clara listened out for a reply, but if she got one she didn’t hear it because it was drowned out by the sound of the Teller’s roar. She kept running, but in this bank all the walls were the same, all of the doors identical, each corner making her feel like she was running in circles. And the roaring was getting louder – closer – and all she could think about was _not_ turning into soup.

And for the love of her, she couldn’t decide what was worse. Either the creature with snail-like-eyes and giant alien hands was coming after her to work it’s way into her head and then melt it from inside out, _or_ it was going after The Doctor to do the same thing. And that terrified her.

“Keep your mind clear,” Clara said to herself has she rounded yet another blank corner. “Keep your mind clear, don’t think about the-“

Clara’s words caught in her throat as a wave of terror washed over her. The Teller was there, staring at her from the other end of the hall. _It’s me, I’m the one it wants,_ she thought, as she realised that with each second she wasted standing still, the slimmer her chances of escape got.

The Teller growled at her, and it’s eyes came forward – a wave of energy sparking between them. Clara turned to flee, but it was too late and she knew it. The Teller made its move and before she’d even taken a step it had taken hold of her mind and immobilised her. Clara could feel it, feel the monsters thoughts reaching out to her and brandishing one word over and over again. _Guilty!_

And she was. She was guilty of so, so much.

She was guilty for hating the Doctor for all the years he spent on Trenzalor alone, for hating him and judging him when he regenerated in front of her – when all she could see was wrinkles and grey hair and a man who had left her behind. And then it changed; and the guilt took a different turn. Clara was guilty for wanting him then, loving him wholly and trusting him above anyone else – she was guilty for adoring him, but never, _ever,_ showing it. She was guilty of reminding him of all his failures, but never acknowledging his successes. He was her best friend, her knight in starry armour and to her knowledge she’d never told him that.

And then there was Malcolm. She should have been more honest with him, held him and kissed him and thanked him for making life on Earth bearable – fun. She should have told him that though she was terrified of the outcome she wanted him in her life as more than a friend. Told him that she wanted to take that chance with him and that she was so, so sorry she hadn’t put their date first.

Clara was guilty for wanting both men and playing them to her advantages to give her time to choose.

The pain in her head was excruciating, like The Teller wasn’t just touching her mind, but reaching in and tearing at it – ripping it. It roared again, closer than ever and Clara resisted the urge to fall to her knees. She screamed and kept screaming – anything to channel the pain. Where was The Doctor when she needed him most? She’d be soup soon; and she wouldn’t even get the chance to say goodbye.

“Clara!”

She wanted to respond; opened her mouth to, but The Teller squeezed tighter and this time her knees wobbled and she crumbled onto them.  Her name was called again and then The Doctor was in front of her, forcing her again to her feet and trying to pull her – but she couldn’t move.

“Clara,” he was panicked and was gripping her shoulders tightly. “Clara I need you to listen to me. Clear your mind, okay? Think of something else – something not here. You’re not guilty, tell yourself you’re not guilty.”

“I _cant,”_ she managed to choke out.

“Psi!” The Doctor was shouting now, becoming desperate. “Psi hurry up!”

Clara faintly heard a response from somewhere further down the hall, but she couldn’t make out the words. The Doctor pulled her forward again, attempting to move her, but Clara was immobilised.

“Is it working?” The Doctor nearly shook her. “Clara, Psi is downloading – is it working? Is The Teller letting you go?!”

 _“No!”_ she cried, convinced she could feel her brain actually sloshing inside her skull now.

“Clara,” The Doctor suddenly held her still and hunched forward so he was eye-level with her. His eyes were wide with panic. “I’m incredibly sorry for what I’m about to do. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

Clara knew. She knew this was it – he was going to have to run away, he’d have no choice but to leave her and save everyone else… and in all honesty, if he put her safety above his own and two others she’d hate him for it. This was the right thing for him to do.

“It’s oka-“

And then the impossible happened.

With his hands still gripping Clara’s shoulders, The Doctor had bent forward and pressed his lips to hers. The Doctor – _her_ Doctor – was kissing her… and Clara saw stars. It didn’t matter that they weren’t pushed up against each other, or locked in a romantic embrace. It didn’t matter Clara had tears streaming from her eyes or that The Doctors hands held on tighter to stop them from shaking. For a split moment, whether it was her own imagination or strange TimeLord genetics, her entire mind cleared and all that filled it was _him_. The sight of his crazy grey hair and wide icy blue eyes, the taste of his whisky bruised lips and stardust breath, the heat of his ancient yet new TimeLord body…

With considerable effort The Doctor broke the kiss. There should have been a moment there, a moment where they looked at each other and tried to figure out what had just happened and what it meant – but The Teller roared and there was no time.

The Doctor let go of her shoulders and took her hand. “Clara - run.”

~*~*~*~*~

It was later, much later, when Clara was picking at the noodles in her carton that The Doctor finally asked her what was wrong. She hesitated to answer – they’d kissed, _that_ was what was wrong and even now she could still feel the heat of his mouth against hers. But it was bad news, because what had it meant? Had they crossed the line? The Doctor was usually so cold after all… and what about Malcolm? Clara felt a pain in her chest – how would she ever explain it to him?

But wasn’t she entitled to see more than one man at a time? Surely _dating_ more than one man was okay? She hadn’t made a commitment to either one so… so why did it still feel like she was lying to both of them?

“Clara,” The Doctor repeated, “what’s wrong?”

“I just…” she continued to stab at her noodles. “It’s just… Earlier, you know when um, when I said I had plans?” Clara couldn’t look at him, “it wasn’t just ‘plans’ it was, um, it was a date. Kind of an important one too and now…”

“Now you’re stuck here with a boring old timelord while your young handsome date-guy morns yours absence.” He sounded sulky, like a teenage boy. “Yeah, I understand.”

“No,” suddenly she was on the defensive. “That’s _not_ it.”

“Then what?”

“We _kissed!”_ she seethed, putting the noodles down and standing to face him. “Or has that little detail slipped your mind? Doctor you and I… we… you… and now I have to go back to Mal-“ Clara stopped herself, she wasn’t ready to share first names yet. “I have to go back to date-guy and either lie to him until the guilt eats me up and I confess or confess right away but have no reasonable excuses to explain myself with. And to be frank Doctor, I don’t even know why you did it!”

His voice was monotone. “It saved your life, didn’t it?”

“So that was all it was? You only did it to save my life?” When he didn’t answer Clara threw her hands in the air. “Fantastic. Fan-bloody-tastic.”

The Doctor took a step toward her but she had a plastic fork pointed in his direction and he didn’t come any closer. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset. It was a necessary measure to save your life, but if you’re so against that next time I’ll leave you to die.”

Clara, exhausted by his obstinacy, gave a heavy sigh. “Just tell me the truth because whatever you tell me is what I’ll believe; I trust you not to lie to me. And then I’ll explain it all to Date-guy… so just be honest alright? Was that kiss _just_ to save my life? Or was there more to it? Because one minute you have me backed against a wall at the end of the universe and the next-“

“Clara,” he cut her off, “ _that_ kiss was to save your life, nothing more.”

That was the answer she wanted, wasn’t it? It didn’t feel like it. “Oh. Okay. Um, good. It’s for the best anyway.”

“Is it?” he said, frowning at something showing up on the TARDIS console. “Well that’s good to know, because otherwise I might think you wanted it to be more.”

Clara glared at him, tired of his hot and cold attitude. “Says the man who in one breath confesses he wants to date me then in the next tells me that any contact we have had is down to ‘necessary measures.”

“Clara,” The Doctor walked around the console toward her. “For an English teacher you’re not very attentive to the words I say, are you?”

“I don’t-“

“Understand, yes, I know.” As he spoke, he made slow and deliberate hand gestures, “but I said _that_ kiss was just to save your life. Do you really think that if I was given the opportunity to kiss you again, it would be as… uninspiring as that earlier attempt?”

Clara felt like her throat had gone dry. “I’ve honestly no idea.”

The Doctor came closer still, so close in fact that with each breath Clara took her chest brushed against his. He reached up and gently touched the side of her face. “May I?”

Despite herself, she nodded.

The Doctor smiled, his other hand going around her waist. “Thank you.”

Then he bent down and this time, holding her as close as possible, he kissed her. _Okay,_ Clara thought, _this is different – better._ He was gentle, confident, and still tasting of the slightest hint of alcohol. Clara parted her lips and, after grazing his teeth along her bottom lip in a deliciously slow manner, The Doctor took the invitation and kissed her deeper, exploring her mouth with his own.

There could have been more, she could have easily slipped his blazer off, pulled him onto his easy chair and taken this night in a whole different direction – but there wasn’t because The TARDIS jolted when she landed and as the kiss broke so did the Clara’s thoughts and ‘ _oh my God, what about Malcolm?’_ was her first one.

The Doctor unwound himself from her but didn’t back away. “Well?”

Clara steadied herself. “Well I nearly died,” she said and noticed how he flinched, “but… that kiss…” She sighed, “as dates go, I suppose on balance… it was okay.”

He looked smug but Clara didn’t have the energy to comment. “Next time will be better. Less dying but more of the other.”

She rolled her eyes and moved away from him, going to pick up her carton of noodles. “Next time?”

“Yes,” he said then, changing the subject all together he moved up to the higher level of the TARDIS console room. “7:30pm, local time as – sort of – promised. Go and enjoy yourself. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Clara frowned. “You’ve brought me back in time for my date?”

“Ish.”

“Ish?”

“Well,” he shrugged, “you’re still half an hour late with no way to get to date-guy, but time is slow and boring and only moves in one direction on Earth. It’d be awkward if you were early – take it from me, whenever you see date-guy the later the better.”

Clara walked toward the TARDIS doors. “Yeah, no, not taking dating advice from you.”

“And Clara,” he called after her, “good luck explaining _that_ kiss to Date-guy.”

She didn’t answer him verbally, but hoped that the way she slammed the TARDIS door was enough to get her point across. When The TARDIS had vanished from her living room and she was left alone to reflect on all that had happened, she decided she needed a glass of wine.

Obviously she’d have to tell Malcolm; it would only be fair. After all, The Doctor sort-of knew that he was competing with someone. Sure, he didn’t know it was his human dopple-ganger, but he knew _something_ and that was more than Malcolm.

Clara took a steadying breath. She didn’t want to ruin things with Tucker, she really, really didn’t, but she couldn’t lie anymore. She’d have to be honest – tell him how she felt… tell him about The Doctor…

After draining her glass of red wine, she picked up her mobile and dialled a cab. “I need to get to Downing Street.”


	8. 8: Honestly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara comes clean to Malcolm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will involve the beginnings of... THE DOCTOR AND MALCOLM MEETING. *Bites nails*

Clara had bitten her nails down to the quick by the time the taxi pulled up outside Malcolm’s office. Here, according to Earth time, it was only an hour after their argument on the phone, but Clara was pretty sure that immediately after he hung up, Malcolm would have gone to work to try and work out his stress.

So she was beyond surprised then when not only did Sam say he wasn’t around, but she also made it pretty clear she didn’t think Malcolm would be coming back until much later. Apparently he had some radio fuck-up to deal with. When Clara asked for directions to the studio, Sam wouldn’t divulge but eventually gave in and allowed her to wait in his office – if she wanted.

Clara wanted. Even if it took her right around until tomorrow morning, she was determined to wait. Clara walked into his office, but before she’d even taken a seat her eyes landed on a white box on his desk. Intrigued, Clara approached and what she saw made whatever guilt she was feeling fifty times worse.

_‘Happy Birthday, C**t’_

“Sam,” she called, not taking her eyes of the white iced cake.

“Yes?”

“Is this… is this Mr. Tuckers?”

Sam smiled, gently, sadly. “Yes, I told him the Prime Minister got it for him.”

“But?”

She smiled again, this time it was a guilty one. “Don’t tell him, he’d go mad. He told me eight years ago not to remind him when it was his birthday – but he’s 50 and I thought, why not? I almost didn’t give it to him,” she laughed, “when he said he had plans I was shocked. Malcolm Tucker _never_ has anyone to spend time with.  But then when he arrived at the office he was so angry about a meeting or some such, that I changed my mind.”

Clara made some kind of vague comment and, when Sam was gone, sunk down into the high backed chair with a horrible, horrible feeling. What had she done? No, really, _what had she done?_ Malcolm hadn’t just taken time off work to spend the evening with her, but he’d done it on his birthday too. Apparently a day that he’d spent _at least_ the last eight years doing alone.

And now, to make his already ruined birthday worse, she was going to tell him that she’d been seeing another man. Because she _had_ to tell him, even if he hated her for it, she had to tell him before the lie got too big even for her to contain.

“You’ve really blown this one,” she said to herself as she tried to ignore the ‘cunt’ cake laying heavy on her conscience.

~*~*~*~

It was the early hours of the morning when Clara woke to the sound of Tuckers colourful swearing. She’d curled up on his chair and fallen into a fitful sleep, waking every couple of hours from the dream that Malcolm was staring at her.

“I’ve already told that jumped up little shit that if he _doesn’t_ get in there I will shove a magnet down his fucking throat and watch his face implode-“ Malcolm did a double take when he laid eyes on Clara sitting bolt upright in his chair. He was nearly pleased to see her, but then he remembered the other mans voice and the fact she stood him up and all the pains of rejection came rushing back.

“Mal-“

“Fucking save it,” he spat, hanging up the phone and shoving it into his trouser pocket. “Why the fuck are you here? I can’t believe Sam let you in.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, deciding to go straight to the point. “Malcolm, I’m really, really sorry. I shouldn’t have-“

“You shouldn’t have what?” he growled, “shouldn’t have lead me on? Shouldn’t have _stood me the fuck up?!_ Shouldn’t have spent the night with another man then had the audacity to turn up here with creased, well touched clothes?” He closed his office door, “I can fucking smell your guilt from here.”

Clara flinched, but didn’t argue. This time she was in the wrong and if nothing else Malcolm deserved his tirade and she deserved everything he could throw at her. “No, Malcolm just… just listen for five seconds will you? I was saying that I shouldn’t have put you second. You’re the most interesting, handsome, kind-“

Malcolm scoffed. “Flattery wont fucking work on me.”

Of course that wouldn’t work on Malcolm. She’d bruised his ego; it would take more than nice words to heal it. “Malcolm,” she reached out, but he stepped back. “ _Please_ let me make it up to you. Give me one more chance to show you how much I like you. Not coming over was a stupid mistake on my part – I won’t do it again.”

“Too fucking right you wont do it again, you won’t ever get the chance.”

 “Do you… mean that?”

Malcolm gave a sharp nod.

Clara’s shoulders slumped. She’d really ruined it between them and she couldn’t see a way back. Clara stood, straightened out her blazer and then made her way toward the door. “Fine. Happy Birthday, Malcolm.”

Malcolm nearly let her go, he should have fucking let her go. Clearly she was his match and then some and maybe he was too fucking old to be dealing with it – but he just couldn’t let her leave without knowing one more thing. “Was it worth it?” he asked, watching her turn slowly to face him. “Was letting some young little shit-head fuck you worth it?”

Clara looked confused. “I haven’t slept with anyone.”

“Then who was the man with you?” Malcolm looked her up and down, “and why do you look thoroughly shagged.”

“My clothes are creased because I’ve been curled up on your – really bloody uncomfortable, might I add – chair for about six hours. And…” _Okay Clara,_ she thought, _time to start being honest. “_ The man you heard on the phone was… The Doctor.”

“The Doctor?” Malcolm gave a bitter laugh, “what kind of fucking name is that? Is it some weird fucking kink he gets off on? Does he make you call him that so he can get off?”

“No, no, not at all it’s just… it’s his name.”

“Yeah-fucking-right.” Malcolm ran a hand down his face, “why was he even there then?”

Clara swallowed the lump in her throat. “This is where it gets… complicated.”

He was glaring at her. “Try me.”

She nodded. “Okay, but you might want to sit down.” Malcolm obliged and Clara took a steadying breath. “The Doctor is… a TimeLord. An ancient being… and um, I travel with him… through uh, through Time and Space.”

And if Malcolm’s face was anything to go by, this was going to be a _long_ conversation.

~*~*~*~*~

Malcolm let her talk. Not necessarily because he didn’t have comments, but because he was too gobsmacked to make them. It appeared his first impressions of her had been right – she was fucking mental.

“So let me get this straight,” he eventually said after there had been a long pause of silence. “You travel _in space and time,_ in a box made of wood with a two thousand year old alien-fucking-thing… and when he found out that you started dating me, he said he wanted to date you to… and while my back has been fucking turned, he takes you off to some other planet and tries to worm his way into your fucking knickers?”

Clara fidgeted uncomfortably. “Sort of.”          

“Sort of?!” Malcolm was incredulous. “Well please fucking tell me how this can get anymore surreal.”

“He… He looks like you.” Clara saw his expression change and started to babble. “I don’t know how it works either, but you and him are… its uncanny.”

Malcolm was so done. He looked at his watch. “Well, this has been really fucking interesting, let me tell you Clara, but this is enough weirdness for one day. Take my advice and get some professional help.”

“Wait,” she said, “I can prove it. If you just let me go onto your computer… I can prove it.”

He was dubious, but he started work in an hour and he’d yet to sleep. He was almost too tired to argue. “Make it quick.”

Clara hadn’t wanted to do this, but she could see it was getting to a last resort. Malcolm didn’t believe her so unless she wanted to call The Doctor down here to meet him – which she really didn’t want to do – she only had one choice. UNIT had files on the Doctor; they had to since he was practically an employee... And Clara, well, she could hack into any system given half the chance.

She’d done this before, just after he’d regenerated, so this time Clara had access quicker than expected. UNIT’s files on The Doctor came up on screen and she pointed to it – “read it.” Clara watched Malcolm click through the pages and pages of information and she tried not to flinch when the pictures of the old Doctor… of the floppy-haired him came up on screen. Clara had forgotten how much she missed the ease of her friendship with bow-tie.

It felt like the longest wait of her life, but finally Malcolm sat back in his chair, arms behind his head. “You know I’m not lying Malcolm,” Clara said, trying to make eye contact. “You know UNIT is real because you’ve seen files on them before I even came along, you’ve probably spun stories for them without knowing it. Why would an organisation above the government lie about something like that?”

Malcolm was quiet for a long time. He needed to think, really needed to think, about his next move. One the one hand it was all too weird, it was like one of Stewart Pearson’s blue-sky-raining-shit ideas had come to life around him. A working time machine complete with an off-his-fucking-rocker time traveller, which liked to kidnap Malcolm’s dates? Definitely a Stewart Pearson brain fart.  Also, it was a really convenient excuse for Clara to use. _‘Oh it’s not really cheating – I was on a different planet!’_ and Malcolm was still smarting from rejection, from arranging a whole day for her and then being told she wasn’t going to turn up.

But, on the other hand, The Government – the government he worked for – had confirmed that UNIT were a real life organisation. A top secret one sure, but one nonetheless. And he was looking at files on the man Clara just told him about and it all matched up… but _fuck,_ who believed in Aliens?

“I’ve got work to do,” he said eventually.

“But Malcolm-“

“Clara,” he wasn’t gentle with his tone. “I have a lot of fucking work to do, a lot of fucking things to think about and a lot of fucking shit to clean up. I _don’t_ need this today – or any other fucking day really.”

“I’m not lying!” she insisted, seeing the resolve in his eyes.

“I never said-“ but then he stopped himself. “I can’t do this now. Some of us have countries to run. I’ll call you when I’m good and ready.”

Clara’s argument died on her lips. There was no point in pushing him any further, if she did, it would just make things worse. She’d have no choice but to leave him be and accept whatever hand he dealt her. Without another word, Clara left Malcolms office, convinced that would be the last time she saw him.

~*~*~*~

It was a week later and Clara still hadn’t heard a word from Malcolm. She’d text him once or twice with no reply and even tried to call him – but it went straight to voicemail. The Doctor had turned up through the week, popping up every now and then to try and convince her she was missing an adventure of a lifetime – but she’d refused every time, hoping that today might be the day Malcolm forgave her.

It wasn’t and instead The Doctor was in her home again.

“Not today,” she said, even before he’d taken a full step out of the TARDIS that had materialised in her living room.

The Doctor scowled. “What a surprise, another ‘not today’ day.”

Clara ignored him and went back to flicking aimlessly through the TV channels.

Not used to being ignored The Doctor threw himself down on the sofa beside her, nearly knocking her glass of water all over the floor. “I’m bored.”

She didn’t care if he was bored, not in the slightest, but if he was here, she was going to use him to take some of her ever-growing frustration. “How long is too long not to call someone?” Clara said, turning on the sofa to look at him.

He looked confused. “I don’t know, a century?” Clara didn’t look happy with that answer so he shrugged. “I have no concept of human time Clara, so asking a TimeLord to evaluate it is a stupid idea.”

“You’re a stupid idea,” she huffed. “You know, I told him,” Clara knew The Doctor probably wasn’t listening, but she’d talk anyway. “I told him as soon as I saw him that we travel together. I didn’t lie, not once and he still doesn’t believe me! _You_ don’t care that I’m seeing him, why should he care that I’m seeing you?”

The Doctor looked insulted. “We _travel?_ Is that all? Did you tell him that we’ve kissed? Or that we’ve risked our lives for each other? Or that every echo of you ends up, in one way or another, with me… or at least, a version of me.”

Clara blushed a guilty red. She hadn’t told Malcolm they’d kissed… that little detail had slipped her mind. “What do you mean my echoes always end up with you?”

“Oh Clara, Clara, Clara,” he leaned further back into her sofa. “Don’t you remember? The Oswin you – the girl in the Dalek – called me to help you escape, when in the end it was you who saved me by wiping my memory from The Daleks. Or perhaps the Victorian you that helped me battle the snowmen; the version so enamoured with me that we shared a kiss. Or maybe the you that jumped into a time stream, splitting yourself across galaxies to save _me._ ”

Clara didn’t really remember much of her past lives. She knew they happened, she’d seen them. And every now and then she’d get flashes, snippets if you will, but the clarity of them always eluded her. She’d honestly thought the kiss she’d shared with the pervious incarnation of The Doctor had been a dream. “But my echoes were with your previous self. Maybe it’s changed now that you’ve… changed.”

The Doctor _nearly_ flinched, but didn’t let it show. “No, it hasn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve checked.”

She frowned. “Checked?”

“Yes,” The Doctor got to his feet, walking around the room in slow steps. “I thought what you thought to. That maybe since the regeneration your timeline and mine may have split – but I had nothing to fear. For example, there is man in 16th Century Paris – Cardinal Richelieu – who has a mistress that is the spitting image of you.”

She shrugged. “We already know there are thousands of me out there.”

“I haven’t got to the best part yet,” The Doctor said. “The best part is that Cardinal Richelieu looks _exactly like me._ ”

“Oh,” Clara said, trying to sound shocked rather than worried. “Wow uh, that’s um… wow. Just like you huh?”

“So don’t you see,” The Doctor continued, oblivious to her revelations. “You can play around with date-guy for as long as you like, but in the end you’ll pick me. You essentially have to, the universe is giving us a huge sign – something she rarely does – who are we to ignore it? Your face and this face,” he pointed to himself, “are destined.”

Clara’s mind was reeling; another dopple-ganger? With another her? Did this mean that she and The Doctor were destined to be together? Or… well, Malcolm looked just like The Doctor too… did it mean that this version of her was meant for Malcolm?  “What if um… What if I met someone else with your face though?” Clara couldn’t look at him while she spoke, afraid it would give her thoughts away. “You know like um, if one of the teachers at my school had your face.”

He narrowed his eyes – only slightly, but Clara saw it. “Impossible,” The Doctor leaned against his TARDIS. “Two exact copies in the same time period, same galaxy even, would have disastrous consequences. The fall out would be so vast that I would have noticed it by now.”

 _Oh really?_ She thought, but said nothing.

“Why’d you ask?”

Clara shifted uncomfortably. “No reason. I was just curious what would happen.”

His tone was deeper, more serious. “Are you _sure?”_

“I-“

A knock at the front door cut her off. “Clara? Clara are you in there? It’s me Mal-“

“Ahhh,” Clara jumped on the spot and used her own noise to drown out Malcolm’s calls. “I uh, I just got an electric shock,” she was scrambling now. _Christ,_ this was the last thing she needed.

“Who’s that?” asked The Doctor, looking down her hallway.

“No-one,” she said quickly. “I mean, I don’t know.”

“He seems to know you.”

“Look I just, I need you to go now alright?”

Malcolm knocked on the door again and Clara was sure if she didn’t answer it in the next sixty seconds, he’d leave and definitely _never_ come back.

“Why?”

“Doctor,” she whined, putting her hands on his chest and pushing him back toward The TARDIS. “Please just _go.”_

A moment later his eyes flashed with realisation. “Date-guy?”

“Yes, now go.”

He dug his heels into her carpet. “Why can’t I meet him?”

Clara wanted to pull her hair out – she needed to think fast. “Because it doesn’t matter, does it? Remember this face,” she pointed to her own, “and this face,” she pointed to his, “are _destined._ ”

The Doctor lingered but when Clara pushed him again, he moved. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Thank you!” Clara had already turned and sprinted down her hallway before she’d finished talking. Luckily the sound of the TARDIS vanishing from her home ended just as she pulled the door open to find Malcolm standing there. He looked tired, as usual, but his hair was adorably distressed and his suit was grey today… boy did it look good on him. “Malcolm,” she exclaimed, probably sounding a little too excited.

“Clara,” he replied. “I didn’t walk in on something, did I?”

“Oh, no, no,” Clara stepped back to let him in. “Not at all.”

Seeming unsure Malcolm stepped into her home took a few steps then stopped awkwardly in the hallway. “Look we can do this another time if-“

“No!” She realised how quickly she answered and shrunk back, “I mean, no I’d… I’d quite like to talk to you now. If you’re not busy of course.”

“I’m always fucking busy,” he said, seeming to relax a little.

She smiled. “Coffee?”

Malcolm nodded. “Fuck yes.”

~*~*~*~*~

She made good coffee, so good in fact that Malcolm had drained his mug before Clara had taken three sips of hers. They were both over compensating, he was swallowing it down to try and calm his nerves and she was sipping slowly to try and give her something to do other than panic.

After she’d left his office that day, he’d trudged through work, snapping at anyone who dare look at him the wrong way, but when it was over and he got back to his computer, Malcolm found himself printing the files from UNIT on The Doctor. He took them home and absorbed himself in heavy reading for the next few days. _Everything_ Clara had said was true, right down to his stupid spaceship being a wooden box.

And honestly Malcolm hadn’t been sure he would forgive her before then. In fact, he’d decided he wouldn’t forgive her because _fuck_ he was too old to invest his emotions without reward; but then – after asking Sam – he learned that Clara had come to his office an hour after they argued and refused to leave until he returned. And then she’d been honest, even going as far as to show him top secret paperwork to prove her point… so his resolve to pretend like she never even happened started to crumble.

 “So…” she started, speaking more into the coffee cup than to him.

Malcolm sighed. Even though she was just in jogging bottoms and a loose beige t-shirt, Malcolm thought she looked fantastic. An effortless beauty that could handle his temper, break into top secret government websites, possibly travel the universe _and_ drive him wild with just a look. He had to be honest with himself, he was done for the moment he met her.

“So this Doctor,” he said, putting his cup on the table. “He’s real.”

Clara took a swig of her drink. “Yes.”

“And you travel with him?”

“… yes.”

Malcolm shifted in his seat. “But you’re dating him too?”

Now it was Clara’s turn to look uncomfortable. “I… uh… well… yes, we’ve been on a date – of sorts.”

 _Ouch,_ Malcolm was surprised how much that pissed him off. How dare this Doctor-fucking-nobody letch over Clara? “And this E.T, he looks like me?”

Clara looked at him intently. Eyes taking in every little feature from head toe, almost like she was willing herself to find a difference – but then she sighed. “Exactly like you.”

He needed a moment to let that sink in; he hadn’t even met the guy yet, but he already hated his fucking guts and did _not_ appreciate having his likeness as his rival… but then, maybe, Malcolm thought, that could work in his advantage. Tucker leaned forward, “are you attracted to him, Clara? _Sexually,_ I mean.”

She turned a pretty shade of pink before whispering, “yes.”

He scooted closer now, not even an arms length between them. “So since we’re exactly alike…”

Clara understood where he was going with this and couldn’t stop the shiver running down her spine. “Yes – you to.”

The corners of Malcolm’s lips twitched into a semblance of a smile. So she was as attracted to him as he was to her? He had a hard time believing that, after all she was so young and so pretty that he was sure the men would be clamouring for her… yet, knowing despite that she still wanted him? Or at the very least wanted the way _he_ looked? That puffed his ego up tenfold.

He went to lean in closer, but was surprised to find Clara had already done that for him. They were so close now, that their legs were brushing against each other. “You’ll tell me when you’ve chosen though,” Malcolm said, his eyes locking with hers. “Because otherwise this stops right fucking here.”

Clara put her hand on his. “The moment I know – for sure, I mean – I’ll stop dating one of you and put all my focus into the other.”

And _fuck_ how Malcolm wanted to be the ‘other’.  It had been years since… well since he’d felt so drawn to anyone. And now he knew Clara liked him back – wrinkles and all – it made her all the more tempting. He’d been lax for too long, not responding to her flirting, not acting on his desires. No wonder she’d gone to his look-alike for some affection, now wonder she’d been driven into the arms of another man.

Well, not anymore. Malcolm liked competition and if the prize was Clara? There was _no way_ he would go down without a fight.

With his free hand – the one Clara wasn’t holding – Malcolm placed his palm on her knee. He noticed how she heated up under his touch. “If I’d of known I was competing for your affections,” Malcolm’s hand began to slide up her leg, “I wouldn’t have waited so long to make my intentions clear.”

Clara was arching toward him, willing him to bring his hand higher… wanting him to settle it between her legs. “Intentions?”

“Mmhmm,” he purred, now making slow circular motions on her thighs with his thumb. “All of the thoughts I’ve had about you, _fuck,”_ briefly he gripped her tighter, “I’ve been walking around the office with a constant hard-on just thinking about your pretty little face and what it would look like when it’s moaning my name.”

Clara was going to say something, maybe even sigh his name to give him a taster of what was to come, but Malcolm didn’t give her the opportunity. Letting go of her hand he wound it around her waist and pulled her toward him, capturing her surprised gasp in a kiss. This time, he wasn’t so cautious. Partly because he knew there was no way any press could see this, but mainly because he was finally getting to touch Clara in the way he wanted.

He explored her mouth with his own, relishing how her smaller, plump lips fitted perfectly with his. Malcolm stared to lean forward, forcing Clara to lie back, propped up on her elbows. He began to move his kisses lower, pressing his lips to her jaw then to her collarbone; a moment more and his mouth would be – could be – on her breasts.

The thought alone was enough to make him speed up, but before he had the chance the phone he’d shoved in his pocket earlier began to vibrate. Malcolm wanted to ignore it… really, really wanted to ignore it but…

Clara felt the hesitation in his ministrations so, with an agitated sigh, she un-propped her elbows and let herself fall back onto the sofa, out of his reach. “Answer it,” she said. “Before I smash it to pieces.”

Malcolm jumped up, his face transformed into the perfect picture of rage and he answered the phone. “What the _FUCK_ do you want?” there was a pause and she saw his nostrils flare. “She did _what?!_ Now you fucking listen to me, right? Get Nicola Murray into my office, right? And be sure to fucking tell her to wear a shirt the colour of blood.”

He hung up, took a deep breath and then looked over at Clara with apologetic eyes. “There’s a fuck up at-“

“I know,” she said, standing next to him. “You need to work, I get it.”

Malcolm straightened out his tie. “And you need to travel.”

Clara walked over to him, grabbed his tie and pulled him down into a gentle kiss. “Yes, but when I’m here on Earth, I’m all yours.”

They said their goodbyes and Clara saw him out of her home. Malcolm nearly smiled as he got into the car still waiting outside. He wanted her to be his no matter how far away she was, and though it annoyed him he had competition as long as the alien-imposter didn’t bother Clara on Earth he _might_ be able to keep his jealousy in check. He doubted it though – and if he had the unfortunate luck of meeting this ‘Doctor’ he was sure all hell would break loose.

Ah, what the fuck did he care? If it came down to a game of wits, a game of insults… Malcolm was convinced he would most certainly be the winner.


	9. 9: In the Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary; Part ONE; The Caretaker. Malcolm and The Doctor are in the same school. How will Clara cope?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so so so sorry this has taken so long. I've had this chapter written for ages, but I was so unhappy with it I didn't want to post it. I've made a few changes, and cut it into two parts because it was so long.  
> Second part will arrive much quicker. :)   
> If you are still reading his fic, thank you, than you, thank you :) x

Clara thought that now the two men sort of knew about each other, things would get easier. Boy was she wrong. Both of them had started demanding her attention way more often than she could give it, and it was starting to show.

 Malcolm and Clara had come on leaps and bounds in the past few weeks of their relationship – she’d been to his house for dinner, he’d come round to hers after work instead of staying alone in the office. And it was really, really great. With each date they shared Clara fell for him a little bit more and a couple of times she very nearly decided that he was the one for her… but then The Doctor would come along. He’d look like a sexy magician, full of wonders and time and space and… and he’d just sweep her off her feet in an adventure Malcolm couldn’t compete with. And Clara would be back to square one.

It was also _very_ convenient that The Doctor took her for an adventure on the days she had dates with Malcolm. She’d brought it up once, but he dismissed it and took her to meet Isaac Newton to taker her mind of it. Now though they were trapped on some god forsaken desert planet with a native population of sand piranhas.

“ _You_ said that the chains were a friendly custom here!” If Clara could wriggle out of them she’d strangle him with the metal links.

“It is!” he protested, “but just in the south of the region… we happen to be in the north where it’s a grievous insult.”

“We’re going to die here,” Clara said, slumping back against the pole but then jumping up again when it burned right through her back. How could the pole be hotter than the air around her? It felt like a million degrees.

“Look on the bright side,” The Doctor said; glancing across at her, “chains suit you _very_ well. You’ll die looking like a Queen – an incredibly sexy one at that.”

Ignoring the very tempting idea that chains and handcuffs were a kink of his, Clara glared at him. “Get me out of here or I swear I’ll come back and haunt you.”

~*~*~*~

“Sorry I’m late,” Clara said, finding Malcolm sitting in the darkest corner of his regular pub. After looking around him for a while he pulled her close and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

In private they were a lot more… hands on, but Malcolm had told her that he couldn’t afford the press finding out about them and Clara agreed. The _last_ thing she needed was the media digging into her personal life.

“You’re brown,” Malcolm said, sitting opposite her and appraising her from head to toe. “Really fucking brown. You weren’t that brown this-“ Then his brow furrowed. “Did he take you on a trip to the fucking sun this time then?”

She sighed. “No, but look I don’t want to talk about it. I’m here with you, let’s hear about your day.”

Malcolm looked dubious. “Clara-“

“Malcolm,” she cut in. “I’m with you aren’t I? And I did promise that while I was on Earth _all_ of my attention would be yours.” Thankfully she saw his face soften a little bit, so took this opportunity to deliver the killer blow to take his mind of it. “So, Nicola Murray?”

~*~*~*~

“Fish people.”

Clara tried to watch the TV by looking around The TARDIS but it was no use. “Oh, what are they like?”

The Doctor hadn’t stepped out of his blue box but offered her his hand anyway. “Fish. And people. Come and see.”

She groaned and got to her feet. “Fiiiine.”

But before she could take a single step The Doctor stopped her and gave a sly smile. “Oh, and don’t forget to pack a bikini.”

~*~*~*~

In the back of the taxi Clara and Malcolm couldn’t touch each other – according to Malcolm cab drivers were essential eyes and ears of the media – but they could certainly look and that was exactly what Tucker was doing.

“Your dress is wet,” he said.

“Freak shower.”

She felt him reach over and pull something from her hair. “Is that fucking * _seaweed?_ ”

“I said freak.”

Malcolm threw the seaweed at the back of the seat in front of him. “I’ll drown that Alien bastard.”

~*~*~*~

Clara was suspicious. Today was date-day with Malcolm – he was coming to the school to finalise the moving of Nicola Murray’s daughter to alternate education – and he was going to be spending the day on and off with her, then taking her back to his home when the day was done. But the thing was, date-day with Malcolm _always_ meant date-day with Doctor.

Yet this morning as she was getting ready for work The TARDIS arrived in her home and The Doctor informed her there would be no adventure today. He had a thing to do, a thing that involved going undercover. And ever since then, she’d been on high alert.

“Clara-“

She jumped and whirled round, expecting to see The Doctor but instead it was Malcolm in the school hallway. “Malcolm,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I didn’t think you’d be here so early.”

He shrugged. “I’d only be bollocking people down the phone. Why not do it somewhere I get to verbally maim people _and_ look at a pretty face while I’m doing it.”

Clara smiled – she’d really grown to love his rage-fuelled self. “Ah, but Mr. Tucker, this is a place of education. You’ll have to keep that mouth of yours in check.”

Malcolm had that cheeky glint in his eye. “Or what?”

Sure the corridor was empty Clara reached out and toyed with the end of his tie. “Or I’ll have to do something about it.” She started to pull him towards her, but then the school bell rang when they were mere millimetres apart.

Malcolm gave a death glare to the bell ringing in the corner. “I’m going to smash it to fucking pieces.”

Clara chuckled and, without kissing him, straightened out his tie and stepped back. “I have a morning meeting to go to.”

“I’ll be around,” he said, taking his phone out of his pocket. “Now go, before I change my mind and drag you into that fucking cupboard where I can put my mouth to _very_ good uses indeed.”

Clara hurried away with a blush on her cheeks and into the staffroom. Somehow knowing Malcolm was in the building already made the day seem better. _Nothing_ could dampen her mood today.

“Don’t forget it’s parents evening tonight, from five till seven. Oh, and hold on,” Armitage was giving his usual spiel and Clara was doing her usual anguished listening. In fact, she wasn’t even looking at the head teacher. She’d occupied herself with sorting out today’s lesson papers. “there is just one more thing. Atif’s off sick, so we’ve got a newbie, I did ask him to come along.”

Clara didn’t notice the tall figure in the brown coat enter the room. She’d didn’t even look up when she heard the name ‘John Smith’ because hell, there had to be real life John Smiths around, didn’t there? But then the ‘newbie’ spoke.

“Thanks. Yes, John Smith’s the name. But, you know, here’s a thing. Most people just call me the Doctor.”

Clara dropped her papers and whirled around only to find her worst nightmare had come true. The Doctor was in her school. * _The Doctor was in her school._ And Malcolm was here too, oh Christ, Malcolm was here too...

The Doctor winked at her. “So, if anybody needs me, just, you know, give me a shout. I’ll be in the storeroom just getting the lie of the land.”

The staffroom filtered out, but Clara was rooted to the spot. She kept staring at him in his stupid brown coat with his stupid smug grin on his face and hoped beyond all hope this was a dream. The Doctor being here spelt trouble for everyone. I mean, if Clara could think past the potential trouble of Malcolm and The Doctor meeting, then his presence here meant that there was probably a threat – alien threat – here in her school, threatening her kids.

“So, you recognised me, then?”

Clara kept staring. “You’re wearing a different coat.”

He picked up a broom and inspected it. “But you saw straight through that.”

“Deep cover in _my_ school?” Clara took a step toward him. “Why? Where’s Atif, what have you done with him?”

The Doctor pointed the broom toward her, using it as a barrier between them. “He’s fine. Hypnotised. He thinks he’s got the ‘flu. Also a flying car and three wives. It’s going to be a rude awakening.”

Clara knocked the broom out of her way and stepped toward him. “Is it aliens? Is that why you’re here? Are there aliens?”

Honestly she was expecting him to say yes, then explain to her in excited detail what kind of alien it was and how he would try to stop it - but he didn’t, he faltered and instantly Clara’s back went up. “Yes, me. Now, go. The walls need sponging and there’s a sinister puddle.”

Clara narrowed her eyes. “You’re not being honest with me.”

“I am,” he protested. “Now go, pretend you don’t now me. Stay out of my way. The less you know, the better.”

She turned to leave, nearly convinced that maybe she should trust him, and then a conversation they’d had just a few weeks ago came flooding back to her. When he’d told her about dopple-gangers, she’d asked what would happen if she already new one, like if one worked… at… her… school. _Oh God._

“I was joking about the dopple-ganger thing,” she said. And the thing was, any other day she would be telling the truth… but not today. Today Malcolm really was here.

The Doctor’s eyes glinted with surprise. He couldn’t believe she worked it out – but he wouldn’t say anything. “Of course you were. I told you, if it was real I’d have seen the fallout by now.” Then he shooed her out the door. “Go sing with the others... unless of course there is something you want to tell me?”

Clara glared at him. He’d backed her into a corner; she could only prove he was lying by admitting her own guilt. “I hate you.”

He was un-phased. “That’s fine. That’s a perfectly normal reaction.”

~*~*~*~

For the rest of the day Clara couldn’t relax. Not even for a second. Malcolm was sulking around corridors, the same corridors The Doctor was supposed to be ‘caretaking’ and Clara was stuck in her classroom powerless to stop them from meeting. It was sheer luck they hadn’t bumped into each other by the time lunch break came around.

Clara found The Doctor pressing buttons on a little device in the hallway. Its little green lights were flashing at an alarming rate, but the moment he saw Clara approach he shoved it into the cabinet and locked it up. She frowned. “What are you doing? What, what’s in there?”

Ignoring her The Doctor watched people over her head. She hated when he did that. “So, is he here then?”

“Is who here?”

“The one that you keep going on serious dates with.”

“I-“

“Clara. Got this period free, yes?”

Clara turned to see fellow English teacher, Adrian coming toward her with some syllabus notes in his hand – but that wasn’t what concerned her. What concerned her was that at the other end of the hall, thankfully occupied with his phone, Malcolm Tucker was striding toward her. She needed to get rid of The Doctor, and fast.

“Doctor,” she said, spinning around and doing her best to keep his attention. “I know it’s probably nothing but one of those kids just picked up the green blinky thing.”

“Huh?” The Doctor’s eyes flickered back between herself and Adrian. Once, twice, three times. Then he finally smiled. “Oh, I see.”

“You see what?”

The Doctor turned and started to walk in the direction of the kids who had ran off with the gadget. “Nothing, nothing at all.”

Though grateful to see him go Clara didn’t like his parting comment. She didn’t have time to worry about it though because barely thirty seconds later and Malcolm was beside her. “That head teacher of yours is a right dickhead, isn’t he?”

Adrian glanced across at Malcolm and Clara saw the confusion in his eyes. “Mister Smith,” he said, “I didn’t realise you changed. Anyway, if you’ll excuse me we need to talk about The Tempest.”

Malcolm followed behind them, but leant forward and whispered. “Who the fuck is Mister Smith?”

Clara ignored him and tried to focus her attention on Adrian, but whatever he was saying just sounded like garbled noise. Her mind was elsewhere, worrying if any moment now the two men in her life would bump into each other – or if any moment now an alien threat would jump out from the cupboard. “Yes, sorry Adrian, of course.”

Malcolm makes a scoffing noise and when she and Adrian stop to turn and look at him, Clara is surprised to find that he’s doing the same looking back and forth between the two of them thing that The Doctor had done earlier. “Oh,” he says, “I see.” And Clara has a sense of déjà-vu. Now they’re repeating each other sentences?

“Don’t mind this old man,” he says, sounding bitter. “You two kids just pop off together.”

Clara talks to Adrian until the bell goes, signalling he has to get back to class. The moment the corridor is empty she turns her attention back to Malcolm who is still huffing and puffing by the doorway. “Why are you talking like an idiot?” she asks.

“I saw the fucking doe eyes you were pulling when you were looking at the floppy-haired bow-tie wearing bastard.” He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “That’s him isn’t it? He’s The Doctor, isn’t he?”

“Wha-“

“I read the fucking files, remember? He changes his face like a fucking skin-crawler. He changed back to the young face, didn’t he? He went back to the baby-faced wanker just to try and take you for his own.” Malcolm was flexing his fist. “ _Fucking, fuck, fuck, fuck._ I'm good, but I can’t fucking compete with that.”

Clara tried not to laugh. Why was it so adorable, so attractive, to see Malcolm wound up in a jealous rage? “Malcolm,” she soothed, placing a hand on his arm, “that’s * _not_ him. I promise.” He still looked suspicious so she carried on, “once he’s had a face, he can’t have it again. Now…enough about The Doctor. I have a free period.”

 Immediately his eyes darkened. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, we can stand here and argue or we can find a much more productive use for this time.”

 “We’ll be seen.”

Clara sighed, making sure to heave her chest as dramatically as possible. “The storerooms don’t have camera’s in them… but you know, if you’re busy I’m sure I can find something else to occupy me.”

Malcolm’s voice dropped lower. “Where’s the nearest one.”

Clara smiled and gestured with her eyes to the door situated a few feet behind him and before she could even think about what she’d got herself into, Malcolm had grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside the tiny room. He pinned her against the door with one hand on either side of her, it clicked shut and momentarily plunged them into darkness.

But it didn’t matter – Clara didn’t even notice when the automated light flickered weakly to life, or when their frantic movements knocked a whole bunch of stuff off the shelf – because Malcolm was on her. He captured her in a kiss so deep and dizzying that if she hadn’t have been leaning against something, she would have fainted. Usually when they kissed like this, Clara would fight for dominance, but not this time, she gave into him, letting him take the lead, letting his tongue explore her.

“Malcolm,” she sighed when he finally broke the kiss.

Using the dim light to guide her, Clara’s hands went to the knot of his tie and began to loosen it. While she worked on that Malcolm grabbed one of her legs and hitched it around his waist – he had the satisfaction of watching her gasp as this new angle meant she could feel his quickly growing erection pressing against her inner thighs.

Clara succeeded in undoing the tie and for a moment she ran the grey silk through her fingers – then, as if Malcolm read her mind he chuckled deep and low. “I bet you’d look fucking delectable with my tie knotted around your wrists.” 

She chuckled. He hadn’t _quite_ read her mind. “Funny. I was thinking the same about you.”

He raised a glorious eyebrow. “You surprise me every time you open your mouth.”

“Mmhm,” she purred, returning her attention to his collar where she then preceded to undo the top buttons. When she had three open, she leant forward and pressed her lips to his chest, tracing the lines of his collarbone in wet kisses. Her hands went to his shoulders and pushed his blazer down off his back.

Malcolm pinned her tighter with his hips because even through the layers of clothes he could feel the heat of her burning through his trousers. _Fuck,_ he wanted to rip off every piece of clothing she had on and then take her – claim her for his own, bury himself inside her until he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

While she set his chest alight with kisses, Malcolm’s hand found the hem of her skirt and in one slick movement his hand had wriggled between the folds of material and was resting between her legs.

If they had a few seconds longer, if Malcolm had kissed her one more time or pressed against her a little bit harder, Clara would lost all sense of the world around her and given in to Malcolm – but just as she began to relax, just as the little knots in her stomach were coming undone there were three loud, angry knocks on the storage door.

“Hello? Who’s in there?”

Clara and Malcolm froze, any desires freezing with them. Clara didn’t know what to do because _oh my god_ that was The Doctor and Malcolm didn’t know how to react because he was hearing his own voice coming from someone else’s lips.

“Is that the fucking-“

Clara put her hand over Malcolms mouth, urging him to be quiet. Maybe if they were silent for long enough, The Doctor would go away.

The door rattled – but the weight of Clara and Malcolm against it kept shut. “Clara? Clara are you in there? Come on; open the door! There’s a green blinker in there and it’s going off the wall – what’s going on?”

Clara looked desperately at Malcolm who was now tucking his shirt back into his trousers. “What do we do?” she mouthed.

Malcolm waggled his fingers at her. “Carry on?”

She gave him a playful smack on the shoulder. Clearly he wasn’t going to be any help – she’d have to come up with something on her own. “Uh yeah, yeah it’s me.”

The door rattled again. “Well come on. Let me in.”

“No I uh… I’m getting changed.”

“So?” he eventually said, his tone decidedly different to what it was a moment ago. “I’d more than happy to watch while you slip your clothes on and off.”

Clara had to hold Malcolm back and press her hand tighter to his mouth. It didn’t disguise _every_ expletive he chose, and Clara is sure she heard him vow that if he ever got his hands on him, he’d shove the green blinker so far up his arse he’d be spitting lasers for a week.

“Go and wait for me by the TARDIS,” she said eventually. “I’ll come and find you in a minute.”

The pause told her The Doctor wasn’t buying it, but eventually she heard him sigh. “Fine, but don’t be long. I’m already tired of pudding brains.”

Clara listened to his footsteps die away and then let another thirty seconds go by before she let out the breath she’d been holding and then took her hand off Malcolm’s mouth.

“That’s him?” Malcolm said, “What the fuck is he doing here? You said you would keep that fucking space herpe a million miles from here.”

“I can’t control him,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “But he said that there’s some kind of alien threat here, at the school. So I need to help him.”

Malcolm scoffed. “The only alien threat around here is him and his stupid fucking mouth.” Clara watched him huff and puff for a bit until finally he sighed. “Well, lets go and find him then, we-“

“ _We?”_ Clara squeaked, totally not seeing that coming. “No, no. _You_ go back to sorting out Nicola Murrays daughter, _I_ will deal with The Doctor. You might know he’s here, but he doesn’t know you’re here and… and look Malcolm,” she rubbed her hand up and down his arm, “I don’t know what kind of threat is here. It’s better if The Doctor and I deal with it without including anyone else who might get hurt.”

“Oh, so you want me to just go about my business while you and Doctor-fucking-no prance around dangerous situations? What if he puts you at risk?”

“It’s fine,” Clara opened the storage door and let the light from the school hallway flood in. “I promise if anything gets too dangerous I’ll walk away.” _Lying again,_ her subconscious whispered. Malcolm looked hesitant so she smiled, “by this evening the whole alien thing will be over with. I can come back to yours and we can pick up where we left off.”

Malcolm got the hint and pulled her back for a quick, chaste kiss before letting her go with considerable effort. “If I see anything that looks like you’re in trouble, or like that creep has got his hands on you, I _will_ be coming to meet my competition.”


	10. 10: Meeting of Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm and The Doctor finally meet. As expected things don't go very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is part 2 of 3. I hope you like their meeting. Took me a long time to be happy with it. (part three rounds off the famous 'because i love him!' scene in The caretaker and starts off Kill The Moon.)

Chapter Ten:

 

‘GO AWAY HUMANS’

Clara frowned as she pushed past the chalked sign and into the caretakers shed. Sure enough the TARDIS and her Doctor were stuffed inside the little room. He was tinkering with some kind of device, muttering under his breath.  She took a moment to compose herself – she was still flustered from her encounter with Malcolm and knew she had to get her story straight – then she walked over to him.

“So,” Clara said, peering over his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“Everything is going wrong,” he fussed. “ _You_ ruined my plan to catch the Skovox Blitzer.”

“Skovox Blitzer? So there is a dangerous alien around here! Doctor, you said the kids were safe-“

“They would have been had you not disrupted my green blinkers. The disturbance alerted the Skovox Blitzer so now they won’t work. He’ll be on his way back here right now.” The Doctor took his weird, multi-layered glasses off and looked at her. “Why were you changing in a storage cupboard anyway?”

Clara nearly blushed – but she controlled herself. “I spilt coffee on my shirt. I had to change and I didn’t have time to go to the bathroom.”

The Doctor waved a hand at her, clearly not really interested. “Yeah, yeah. The Blitzer will be back within the hour, so just in time for school to finish.”

“It can’t come back in an hour,” Clara said, suddenly remembering bits of what the head teacher was talking about this morning. “It’s parents evening after school.”

“So?”

“So all of the students _and_ their parents will be here.”

He shrugged. “They can see the end of the world in together then. Rather sweet, don’t you think?”

“Doctor,” Clara voice was low – warning. “What do we do to stop it?”

He smiled, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “I thought you’d never ask.”

~*~*~*~*~

Malcolm was suspicious – and curious - A bad combination for a politician.

After Clara left him at the cupboard, Malcolm tidied himself up and tried not to think about the voice he’d heard through the door. It was _his_ voice and that fucking space-crawler was using it. And he was here, somewhere, in this school with his stupid spaceship and probably trying to have his way with Clara.

Malcolm found it harder than ever to not go looking for them both, and the longer that he went without seeing any trace of Clara, the harder it became. Eventually he decided if he hadn’t seen her by the time the parents evening was over, he was going to look for her regardless of what she said.

It was about an hour later and Nicola Murray was signing the last of the papers when Malcolm, who’d gone out into the hallway to escape the noise of her voice, saw what he thought was Clara. A wiz of brown hair and spotty skirt zoomed pass the end of the corridor. He nearly called to her, but whatever he might have said died on his lips when he saw a metal spider-like thing chasing after her with glowing red eyes.

He took off after her and part of him wondered if he’d lost his fucking mind.

Malcolm didn’t know the school layout, but that didn’t matter – the metal spider like thing was loud that all he had to do was follow it’s footsteps. It was fast, but Malcolm was glad. What the fuck would he do if he actually caught it? Turn it off then on again? And if that didn’t work? What if Clara-

_Crash!_

It felt like he hit a rubber wall. He stumbled back and fell to the floor – ass first. “Fuck, fucking hell, what the fuck!”

“Malcolm?” Clara was standing over him, looking first at him then to the hallway behind him. “Why are you here? I thought I told you-“

“Yeah, and I told you if I saw you in trouble I’d be coming to intervene. A metal glowing space robot looked dangerous enough.”

“Seriously, I’m fine,” she said, helping him to his feet but then pushing him back the way he came. “You need to get out of here. It’s not safe. The Skovox Blitzer-“

“Skovox what?” Malcolm was irritated. For the first time in his life he’d tried to be the hero but the woman he’d come to save was telling him to piss off. To top it off Clara wasn’t acting like the Clara he knew – when did she become so… spacey? “Who the fuck are you?”

Clara looked confused. “You know who I am.”

“No. I know Clara Oswald, schoolteacher. When you’re with him. When you’re with the Doctor you turn into Brian fucking cock.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could another voice – his own voice - interrupted them from somewhere deeper in the school. “Clara? Clara?”

Clara turned a paler shade of white. “You need to go Malcolm.

He crossed his arms. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Clara was getting frantic. Maybe Malcolm was ready to meet the Doctor, and maybe the Doctor was ready to meet Malcolm – but she wasn’t prepared for either. She could hear The Doctor getting closer and Tucker was no closer to moving – shed have to compromise and fast.

Clara unclipped the watch from her wrist and held it out to Malcolm. “Put this on.”

He was suspicious. “Why?”

Without his agreement she clipped it onto his wrist above his own watch. “Press the button on the side. You’ll be invisible. You’ll see me with the Doctor, the other me. The exactly the same other me. Okay?” Then before he could argue she pressed the button for him, turning him invisible just as The Doctor rounded the corner.

She heard Malcolm take a sharp breath and realised she could only imagine what it was like seeing yourself – an exact you – appear before your eyes. Clara hoped beyond all hope Malcolm kept quiet.

“Ah, there you are. What happened? I lost your signal – did it follow you?”

“I uh, it lost me. It seemed to get distracted then veer off.”

The Doctor rubbed his chin. “Interesting. I must have set the receptors too high. No time to loose, come along Clara I’ve built a thing.”

 “A thing?”

“A very clever thing.”

Clara followed behind him, acutely aware that a third set of footsteps followed _her._ It appeared Malcolm was coming with them.

~*~*~*~*~*~

They returned to the TARDIS. _THE TARDIS._ Much to Clara’s protesting, The Doctor said it was essential as the ‘very clever’ thing he’d build was inside his ship and he couldn’t possibly move it out until it was finished.

Clara wondered if Malcolm was still with them – and if he was, what was he thinking?

“Thanks for keeping out of my way while I was busy. You haven’t got date-guy involved in all this, I hope.”

“He has a name. And no, I haven’t.”

The Doctor wondered over to a pile of metal wires and cogs and screws. “Pass me the synestic.”

Clara picked up a small lever with a blinking light on the end and handed it to him. “So, when the Blitzer comes back, are you going to catch him with that?”

The Doctor sighed. “It’ll be a long fiddly job. Even longer if you keep standing there, distracting me with your face.”

“Are you _sure_ this will work? You said the chronodyne is unstable.”

He stopped what he was doing and started to walk toward her. “Clara I'm very busy. If you want to bother someone, find date-guy and-“ The Doctor paused mid-step and looked around him, “interesting.” 

 _Uh-oh._ “What is?”

Suddenly very animated – _too_ animated – The Doctor began prancing around the TARDIS control board, pulling levers and switches. “I’m bored,” he announced. “Let’s go somewhere fun. What do you say? Do you want to see the Thames frozen over?”

Clara hurried after him, resetting everything. She was all too aware that Malcolm could be here too – the last thing she wanted was to drag him across the universe. It’s one thing to tell him about it when she got home, but another thing to actually have him in danger. “But you can’t. The Skovox thing.”

“It’s a time machine,” he said. “We can get back straight away, just like we do on your dates.”

Malcolm was definitely in the room. Clara hadn’t been sure before, but now, as The Doctor openly mocked him and the dates they shared, she could feel a rage forming from somewhere behind her and she knew beyond all doubt it belonged to Malcolm. “I don’t think we should,” she said, desperate now.

“Oh come now Clara,” The Doctor was practically purring. “You’ve never said no before. Not even when you two were in the middle of dinner. Remember when you had two meals in a row?”

Oh she wanted to hit him. She wanted to smack the smug look off his stupid time lord face.  “I just think-“

And suddenly Clara’s worst nightmare came true. There, standing face to face – mere inches apart – was Malcolm Tucker and The Doctor. Two men with the same face; one glaring the other analysing, waiting for an explanation. Clara thought she was going to faint.

“Malcolm…” she said, gently, carefully. His face was a picture of pure anger. “Why did you…”

It took a few seconds, seconds that felt like minutes, before he finally tore his eyes away from The Doctor. “He already knew I was here. Didn’t you hear him, being all fucking clever? That wasn’t just for your benefit love.”

“Interesting,” the Doctor said again. “Now that you mention it, being a Time Lord-“

“Oh fucking, fuck me. Time Lord? _Time Lord?_ Are you shitting me? It finally fucking makes sense.” Malcolm was pacing, but Clara noticed how his eyes never left The Doctor. “I thought it was just a name some posh fuckwit in the government gave his file and it stuck, but oh ho, no. _He_ actually calls himself that.”

The Doctor took out his sonic screwdriver and aimed it Malcolm. “ _This_ is date-guy?” His sonic screwdriver was whirring, “but he’s human. Boring. Dull. Pudding Brain.”

“Clara are you seeing this?” Malcolm was waving his arms around like a loon. “He’s got a vibrating space dildo in his pocket. Ohh look it even lights up so he can find where to stick it on those lonely nights.”

“Sonic screwdriver,” The Doctor growled.

“I mean, when you said we were alike you fucking missed the mark there Clara. I don’t dress like a queer, sexually frustrated magician and I don’t have a have an ego the size of fat pats hernia.”

“Clara,” The Doctor said – though it was hard to tell, the two of them had nearly exactly the same voice. It was giving her a headache. “Why is he making all this…mouth noise. Get rid of it, we don’t need him and _his_ even biggerego here.”

“Damn right mines fucking bigger than yours-“

“Stop it!” Clara was shouting over the two of them. Her head was swimming with Scottish accents and swear words. “Can you both stop being so childish! Can you hear yourselves? You’re arguing over who’s god-knows-what is bigger and in case you’ve both forgotten there is an _alien_ running around this school putting children’s life in danger!”

“Exactly,” said Malcolm, pointing a finger at the Doctor.  “So fuck off and we can go back to normality.”

The Doctor ran a hand down his face. “Get out of my Tardis.”

“Ohh, trying to give orders now are we?”

The Doctor was scowling. “Out. Now!”

Clara touched Malcolm’s arm. “Malcolm, come on lets-“

He yanked his arm away. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fucking going.”

Clara watched as Tucker stormed out of the Tardis, slamming the door so hard behind him it bounced. “Well,” she said, glaring at The Doctor, “thank you very much. That couldn’t have gone any worse if we’d planned it.”

The Doctor shrugged. “On balance I think that went quite well.”

~*~*~*~*

By the time Clara caught up with Malcolm he was in the school car park, ushering a panicky looking woman into a car with shaded windows.

“Malcolm, wait!” She grabbed his arm just as he was leaning into the car. “Don’t go.”

He frowned. “Go? I’m not going anywhere. We need to talk.”

Clara swallowed the lump in her throat – somehow that sounded ominous, but she couldn’t say no, she owed him. “Okay.”

Malcolm slammed the car door on the woman inside who was yammering on about something and turned his back to it. “When you said-“ his eyes jolted to the left and his expression hardened. “Oh for fuck sake.”

The Doctor joined them three seconds later. He completely ignored Malcolm. “Clara, the vortex is opening.”

“What?!” Clara and Malcolm spoke at the same time.

“We better get those brats out of there then,” said Malcolm. “It’ll look very fucking clever if the secretary of states daughter winds up dead on my watch.”

The Doctor whirled on Malcolm, “shut up!”

Clara got between them. “Doctor, what do I do?”

Malcolm watched as space-prick handed her his sonic screwdriver. “Get its attention.”

“Then what?”

The Doctor, much to Malcolm’s annoyance, grabbed her shoulders. “Run to the Tardis.”

Clara gave Malcolm an apologetic glance then turned and ran toward certain danger. The Doctor started to move in the opposite direction, but not before Tucker grabbed his arm and stopped him. “You’re using her as a fucking decoy?”

Space-prick pulled away. “Leave us alone.”

“Listen here, Doctor dick,” Malcolm squared up to his own face – an experience he’ll never forget, did he really look that old? – “if a single hair on her head is hurt. I’ll hunt you down and stick that sonic sex toy so far up your arse you’ll be shitting lasers until you die. Are we clear?”

As though he hadn’t even spoken The Doctor started to walk away again. “Like I said, _leave us alone.”_


	11. 11: Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara tells The Doctor she loves Malcolm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very Malcolm x Clara - also a bit domestic!Malcolm. Next chapter tackles Kill the Moon and is very Clara x Twelve :)

Clara felt like her brain was going to combust. Honestly a bit of life-threatening danger was starting to feel like a relief. Was it strange to say if felt normal having the Skovox Blitzer rampage after her? She only hoped Malcolm was staying out of harms way.

Clara burst into the caretakers storeroom, expecting to run into the Tardis and have the alien chasing her blown to bits – instead she found The Doctor standing in front of her, wearing something that looked like it belonged in Ghostbusters and shouting commands through it.

“Twenty seconds Clara, keep running!”

The Blitzer fired at her and by some miracle she ducked just in time.  She found herself, as much as she hated to admit it, hiding behind the Doctor. “Now would be good, Doctor.”

“Superior Skovox Artificer. Analyse stop analyse stop.” The alien stopped, eyes still read and fixed its glare onto The Doctor. Clara was nervous for him. “Commence shutdown protocol. No conflict. Solution?”

They waited with baited breath for something to happen. Would it shut down? Would it surrender? “Final input code missing. Emergency terminate. Initiate self-destruct in nine, eight-“

For the first time Clara thought about the children she was supposed to be protecting, for the first time since this whole fiasco started she thought there was a chance this all might go wrong. _She_ might be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of children. “Doctor!” She was frantic, “do it now!”

“I-I need time! Distract it, Clara!”

“Me?! What can I-“

“Oi, Tin-fucking-Tin, over here!”

Clara couldn’t believe her eyes. _Malcolm_ , bloody Malcolm Tucker was standing in the doorway looking about as pissed off as can be, facing off a laser-shooting alien… with his blackberry. Clara vowed right then if this didn’t kill him, she would.

The Skovox turned on its hinges and fired at Malcolm who dodged to the side at the same time he switched the invisibility watch on. It confused the metal menace for enough seconds, but not for long enough, so Malcolm made himself visible again to get it’s attention – then moved away, becoming invisible once more.

“Artificer Artificer. Stop. Confirm stop override final input code.”

The Blitzer paused mid-attack. “Code accepted. Abort self-destruct. Orders accepted. Stop, stop, stop.”        

And then all at once the chaos ceased. And before Clara even gave The Doctor a second thought she was running at Malcolm and pulling him into a hug so tight she was sure she was bruising him. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Malcolm you were amazing. That was… Oh, my God. Wow.”

Malcolm was surprised at such a public display of affection, but the fact he could feel The Doctor glaring made it all so much better. “Yeah well, someone had to do something. Someone had to keep you safe.” He pulled out of the hug and gave The Doctor – himself – a smug look. “How you doing, spaceman?”

“Clara,” The Doctor said, “we need to drop this thing off in the middle of deep space. Quickly, before it wakes up.”

Clara frowned. “I thought you just overrode it.”

“Yes, yes, yes, but it will continue processing the order. I give it maybe… two days before it realises its mistake and overrides the override.” The Doctor held out his hand to Clara, “so come on.”

Clara heard Malcolm scoff behind her. “How stupid do you think I am?”

The Doctor shrugged. “I’m willing to put a number on it.”

“You think I’m fucking stupid, don’t you son? Clara, this thing-“ he kicked the immobile Skovox, “will never turn back on. He just wants to get you as far away from me as possible so he can probe you with his tiny little space dick.”

Now it was The Doctors turn to scoff. “Oh genius. That is, really brilliant reasoning. How can you think we’re any different down there when we’re exactly the same anywhere else? Describing yourself there?”

Clara tried to intervene. “Guys can you not-“

“Right that’s it,” The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver. “We have planets to save Clara and he’s just getting in the way. Stand aside while I hypnotise him. Erase his memory. Tiny little brain, it’ll only take a minute.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Clara said, stepping between them. The word sounded strange coming out of her mouth – she hadn’t called Malcolm that before. “He’s date-guy.”

“Date-guy?” Malcolm echoed behind her, “well thank you very fucking much.”

Clara ignored him and focused on The Doctor. “I thought you’d figured this out.”

“Him?” The Doctor gestured to his doppelganger, his voice going up a pitch. _“Him?”_

“Yes, him.”

“No he’s not.”

Clara felt Malcolm come a bit closer. “Yes I fucking am.”

“But, but he’s human.” Clara wasn’t sure she’d ever seen The Doctor look so confused. “You wouldn’t go out with a human version of me, when I’m actually here. It’s clearly a mistake. A boyfriend error. ‘ He held out his hand to her, “come with me and allow me to show you the error of your ways.”

“You keep your slimy, shitty hands off of her.”

“Or what? You’re a human. Boring. Dull.” The Doctor turned his attention to Clara, “why would you go out with him?”

“Doctor stop,” Clara was getting that pounding in her head again.

“Why not date a plant or a… a postbox. How can you put up with his stupid, pathetic-“

If Clara had been just a little bit less stressed, she might not have said what she said next. But The Doctor was pushing her buttons, trying to control her life, trying to guess at her feelings – and Clara couldn’t take it anymore.

“Because I love him!”

Silence fell, but The Doctors expression spoke volumes. He flinched, actually flinched at her words and took a step back. He was looking at her like he’d never seen her before. “Why would you say that?”

Clara didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know why she said it, it just came out but… but that didn’t mean she wanted to take it back, did it? And if she did take it back, it would ruin her and Malcolm for good and she definitely didn’t want that. So… did she love Malcolm? Could she love Malcolm when she still loved The Doctor? “Doctor I-“

“Were you ever going to explain any of this to me, Clara?” The Doctor was accusing now. “It seems pudding brain over there is quite okay with my Tardis, he was familiar with the phrase TimeLord. It seems you’ve explained a lot to him, but you haven’t finished the job.”

“I don’t understand-“

“Well,” he mocked, “you’ve explained me to him, but you haven’t explained _him_ to _me_.” Then before she could argue he stormed off into his Tardis and slammed the door in her face.

Clara stared after him for a long time, half expecting him to come back out of there with his usual blank expression and carry on like it was nothing. After all he always knew he was competing with someone for her affections, right? Why was he acting like this? How could she ever make it right?

Clara felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Malcolm.

“So,” he said, running a hand down his face. “You love me?”

~*~*~*~*~

Two hours later, Clara and Malcolm were back at her flat. They hadn’t really spoken since her candid confession; after all he had to run back to office and Clara had to finish parents evening. She didn’t tell Malcolm, but she went back to the caretakers room, hoping to find The Doctor and make things right – instead she found it empty. He, the Skovox Blitzer and his Tardis were long gone.

She tried not to let it bother her. She had to talk to Malcolm too, and it would probably be better to deal with that first. Clara handed him a coffee and sat down beside him. “I-I’m sorry about today. I didn’t want you to meet him that way, he’s usually not so… you know, him.”

Malcolm sighed. “Why are you still defending that prick? He puts his own ego and reputation before everybody else despite the fucking consequences.”

Clara frowned. “Excuse me, Mr. Spin Doctor. You’re telling me when you spin stories you consider the feeling of the person you’re spinning them about?”

“That’s a totally different fucking scenario. Sure, I ruin the life of some jumped up little shit that gets in the way of my party – but one silver spoon, moral lacking asshole and an entire school of not as yet entirely corrupt kids are two totally different things.”

Clara sighed. She didn’t want to argue. Of course Malcolm had a point, but at the same time so did she. The Doctor was entitled to his arrogance because somehow, someway he always saved the day. Clara would be lying if she said she didn’t find it attractive.  “He’s The Doctor, I don’t know what else to say.”

“Say you’ll kick him the fuck out of your life, say you won't elope with him half way through one of our dinners. Say that every time you think about him you’ll call me to fuck you senseless instead.”

“I don’t elope.”

Malcolm took a swig of his coffee and leaned forward, his hand reaching out and resting on her knee. “You love him, don’t ye’?”

Clara spluttered. _Yes._ “N-No I-“

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. He really looked like The Doctor when he did that. “Really tired of the bullshit.”

“Well… yes, okay. Yes. I do love him, but not… not as simply as you might think.”

“Clara,” he sighed, “I can’t think right when I’m around you, let alone guess who might be prancing around in your fantasies.”

She put her hand on top of his. “I mean, I love you both, not the same way but, how could I not? The Doctor is part of my life so you’re going to have to get used to him being there – just like you’re part of my life now. He’s going to have to know that travelling with me means travelling with you.”

“Now hold on, I never said I’d get in that bloody box with the twat.”

Clara smiled. “Yet.”

“Love, in case you’ve forgotten I’ve got a government to run and a minister lady to stop from topping herself. Pretty fucking busy here on Earth.”

They laughed and for a moment it was almost like they didn’t have a third person in their lives, like they didn’t have some weird outside pressure on their relationship.

“Just promise me,” Malcolm said, scooting closer, “that if he ever puts you in too much danger. If he ever fucking lets you down – just once – that you walk the fuck away from him. Because otherwise I really am going to have to stick something unpleasant up his arse, which is essentially my arse, and that’s something I’m not in a hurry to do.”

“I promise… So, are we good?”

He gave a nod and then, much to her disappointment, checked his watch. “I need to-“

“Don’t tell me you need to go. Come on, whatever it is, put it off.”

“Clara, as much as I’d love to stay here and tie you to the fucking bed until you’re screaming,” she noticed a glint in his eyes as he spoke. “I have to be at DoSAC tomorrow morning to prep Nicola fucking Murray for her BBC interview.”

“Oh come on Malcolm,” she leaned toward him, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Knowing her she could launch a nuclear war. Launch schools for paedophiles. Hospitals for serial killers. Churches for Neo-Nazi’s?”

As he spoke Clara was fiddling with the knot of his tie, undoing it with each word he said. “Oh how terrible,” she said, smiling as his voice faltered at her slightest touch. “We should see the end of the world in together then, no? You don’t do romance, but sex while the world ends seems right up your street.”

“That would be…” Malcolm let her push him backward onto the sofa until she was on top of him. He was already hard as fuck and she hadn’t even touched him properly yet. “Very fucking naughty…”

“Mm,” she said, slipping his tie off and throwing it across the room. “Then make me behave.” Clara kissed him chastely on the lips, teasing him until she could feel his erection pushing against her thighs.

“Let me just-“ Malcolm was typing something furiously on his blackberry, clearly in a hurry to finish and turn his attentions to her, but Clara was getting impatient so snatched it out of his hand. He made a grab for it, but she tossed it over her shoulder, watching as it landed in a pile of pillows.

“Whoops.”

“Clara that was very, very,” his Scottish accent rolled the r’s beautifully and it made her shiver from head to toe, “bad. I’m going to have to-“

But his threats were lost to her kisses. He would send that email to Terri in the morning, after – and not a moment before – he’d had his wicked way with Clara.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Malcolm woke up naked with a beautiful, also naked, woman curled against his chest. Okay so he had a bit of an ache in his back and he could see his shirt and blazer screwed up in the corner, but as far as morning's went, Malcolm decided this was one of the better ones. 

For a moment he couldn’t work out why there weren’t any pillows behind his head, but then he remembered they weren’t in a bed - they were on her living room floor. They hadn’t quite made it to her bedroom and despite their best efforts to move they found they couldn’t keep their hands of each other to get further than a few inches. At some point between undressing each other, they decided to stop trying and just stay where they were.

Malcolm smiled, something he didn’t do all that often, as he replayed just a few of last nights salacious scenes in his head. Sooner than he thought possible at his age, Malcolm started to feel the familiar stirrings of lust in the pit of his belly.

“Nicola Murray,” he muttered under his breath, “nicola murray… naked.”

Clara interrupted his mutterings. “Nicola Murray PM?”

Malcolm actually recoiled at that thought - it did the trick and his stiffy was gone in seconds. He lifted the thin sheet that covered them and had a look, just to make sure. “Well, fuck me, I’ve never seen it look so bloody depressed.”

Clara laughed and rolled onto her chest. “Hi.”

Malcolm, despite himself, was at a loss for words. He wasn’t a sentimental fuck; never had been, and never fucking would be. It was something he built his reputation on. He hadn’t seen his nieces in three years and he didn’t go home and cry about that. Malcolm wasn’t the romantic type either which might explain why his last girlfriend was thirty years ago and he was more than happy to pay for sex - he didn’t need all that emotional baggage… but…

But right then as Clara smiled at him - even with her hair ratty and knotted, even with her makeup smudged all over her face… even though she was in love with another man - Malcolm felt his stomach do flips and his heart beat painfully in his chest. _You’re fucking doomed_ , he thought. _Absolutely fucking doomed._

“Malcolm, you alright?”

Shit, he’d been caught staring. “Waking up to a naked woman with a body like yours? I think I’m more than alright.”

She laughed. “How very romantic of you, Tucker.”

From somewhere behind him his phone started ringing. He made a grab for it, but not before he heard Clara mutter that it was shame it didn’t smash when she threw it. "Sam, what is it?"

Clara waited for Malcolm to finish the call, watched as his expression grew from maybe slightly happy to definitely not happy. “Who’s Sam?” she asked once he’d hung up.

“Secretary,” he said, throwing the sheet off him and wandering over to grab his clothes.

Clara oogled his naked form from top to bottom. “Problems at the office?”

Malcolm snorted. “As per-fucking-usual.”

Gathering the sheet around her, Clara stood up too. She should probably offer him coffee or something; even a lift to work, but instead she watched him wander around her tiny flat looking for where his clothes were thrown. Clara waited until he was putting on his white shirt before she spoke. “I’m going to see The Doctor today.”

“If you weren’t feeling well love you should have said, I wouldn’t have shagged you so thoroughly if I knew you were going to puke your guts up any fucking second.”

“You know what I mean.” Clara came and stood in front of him, slapping his hands away until he let her button up his shirt. “I just wanted to tell you. I want to be more honest. So I’m going to call him, and see if I can get him to talk to me. Build some bridges.”

“Bridges of dynamite then get the fucker to walk across them.”

Clara glared.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Actually, I’m glad you’re going to see E.Tits. If he can’t smell it on you, tell him all about what we did last night and then again this morning. I’ll draw him a fucking diagram if he likes, better yet, let me talk to the titwank on the phone - I’ll be really fucking specific.”

Clara laughed. “Smell you? Don’t be ridiculous.” She grabbed his chin and tilted his head down so he was looking at her, “I promise everything will be fine. I’ll call you, alright? Don’t kill anyone at work.”

“Good thing I don’t work with The Doctor, then isn’t it?”

“Malcolm, don’t be such a d-”

Malcolm cut her off with a kiss. He couldn’t help but pull her in a bit closer, just so he could kiss her deeper - slower. When he finally pulled away, he was pleased to see Clara looking doe-eyed and her lips all red and puckering. Malcolm let her go with some considerable effort and headed for her front door. 

Let her think about  _that_ while she’s with The Doctor.


End file.
